When The Tables Have Turned
by Sonicgirl582
Summary: One hero, one mansion, one villain: one predator, one prison, one prey. However, it becomes frightfully clear that roles are not set in stone and, evidently, the tables can be turned. Rayman is searching for a way to bring a good friend back, but ends up in a very unheroic situation. But the question is, can a spirited Rayman deal with this change...and not break? Based in Rayman3.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

**This is a story from long ago, before time itself and the world had even established a place in this reality. It is a tale of the Goddesses anger, selfishness and self sacrifice, a tale of a sacrificial punishment that was heard generation after generation in the form of a legend...until the time came for it to take me in its talons.**

**I often lay awake at night to stare at the Twin Moons—at the sisters—hoping to all hopeless odds that the fate carried through my bloodline would not have me as its ender. I hoped for it to wait, for it to possibly pass over me like it had done to millions of my ancestors before me. I thought it had spared me...**

**But I was wrong...**

Everything was chaos. Fire burned towards the night, reaching flaming tendrils for the sky. It basked a dangerous red glow on the surroundings: to every branch, leave and petal—a wave of heated solid destruction. Crashes boom as scorched trees collapse in mighty explosions. The smoke was a curtain of red and black, a choking smoke grasping innocent throats. Heat burned at skin, creeping up bodies, burning faces, burning frightful eyes, burning all hope. Shrill screams pierce the murderous night. The small feet of the Teensies, so desperate, so panicked, so filled with fear, dash through the draping arms of hellish fire that stretch horrifically for the moons like a demon of death—ever growing higher. Obviously, some would not survive the night.

A howling gale roared through the trees, powerfully sweeping innocent victims off their feet and into the flaming fray, circling the area like a rampaging herd, tearing trees from their roots with warning howls. Trees of burning fire were tossed to the skies in utter destruction. Once green leaves are burned to ash and carried heartlessly by the raging hurricane to the sky.

The Twin Moons pierce the deadly night, their moonlight raying down upon the unfolding scene of pure terror. Their light is ever so unnaturally bright, intense, and green—blinding. They seem to scream, to mourn, to cry for the chosen one to accept her depressing fate. The moonlight is their streaming tears; the howling gale is their threatening shrieks. Within their confines of the night, they glow brighter than they have ever done before. Tonight would be her living last. Tonight was the night of the prophecy.

Within a circular clearing, with its grass tainted with embers, were two figures.

One was in the very centre in all her beautiful glory, violet hair whipping wildly about her by the encircling tornado. Once emerald eyes that represented the lively forests were a heart wrenching white, magically glowing as the chaos of destruction worsened. Their glow lit her elegant features: her pointed nose, her slender cheeks, her slightly open black lips—casting chilling shadows across her young face. The purple swirls that had curled around her skin glowed pure white in the black of the night. She floated a metre off the ground, struggling as if held by unseen restraints. Her slender arms were opened wide. Her grunts foretold her pain.

The other one could barely stand as he tried to move towards her. His golden hair was flying wildly in the wind, but he does not care as he puts a gloved fist before his eyes and keeps reaching for her. The glow from his friend is ethereal and overwhelming, blinding, terrifying. Black eyes reflect the surrounding destroying flames, making him grit his teeth at seeing Teensies fall among those fires, hearing their innocent dying screams, yet unable to help them. His red hood gets caught in the gale, choking him as it latches on—trying to hold him back from her. His yellow shoes shakily take step after step. He forces himself gradually closer to his friend. Such resistance and internal struggle shone in his eyes, such solid determination, yet he had never seen her like this before...and it secretly made him hesitate.

"Guardian, this has to happen. This has to be done—it is my destiny...Just as you have yours."

He stopped, one eye squinting against the dreadful wind and light created by her magic. Why did she sound so different? The tone of her voice sounded powerful, like a Goddess.

"No, you're wrong. This can't be your only path!"

Even through her mystical agony, a different pain is evident in her words, "You are making this harder than it needs to be—"

"It can't end like this, not after everything we've been through to save this world!" He takes a shaky step forward as he yells disbelievingly above the wind. "To just let you die—like a worthless pawn in the chest game that is this war." Another step follows, then another. "To just let a friend like you go, like you meant nothing to me?" He stumbled right before her, eyes ablaze as he hissed, "In every sense that you're asking me to stand by and watch...you're asking me to_ kill_ you."

"My fate was said and sealed in stone long ago, just as the prophecy of Polokus foretold before we were even born."

"There _must_ be another option. There just _mus_t...I _can't_..."

He suddenly screwed his eyes shut in distress. Despite trying to hold it back, a single tear glistened in his eyes and sparkled against the amber fires. Why was she just giving up? Why was she giving up on the world...on _him?_

"Guardian...Rayman, I truly am sorry that this is hurting you so. But even you, as much as you try to deny my fate, know that there is nothing you can do to stop me, to save me, to prevent the events that time itself has carved into my very own flesh and blood. This is what I was born to do...just as you had been born to be our Guardian."

Rayman's eyes all of a sudden sharpened in boiling hatred.

"Guardian? Oh, how I despise that title. Don't call me that—No! Don't say it. Just don't—I don't want to hear it. How can I even hold that title when I can't even save a friend?" He interrupted her when she tried to argue and she knew it was of no use.

"You have a good heart, Rayman. It will always be in the right place," She bent down through the pain, lovingly placing a hand to his chin. One other shaking hand tenderly brushes above his breaking heart. A caring smile lights her lips. Her next words—her last words—were vanishing whispers on the wind. "...And it will always be in that place where you will find me."

As those sincere ghostly words were breathed, the female took a sharp intake of breath.

Her whole body seemed to freeze in place. Her muscles turned rigid and her eyes went wide when it felt like freezing liquid magic was coursing through her veins rather than her blood. Agony evidently shone in her glowing eyes when tears of pure light trailed down her cheeks, falling from her innocent eyes—drifting up to the moons. Ever so slowly, she began to fade away.

"NO!" He screamed. Casting all caution to the wind he grabs her lovely hand. It feels ever so solid in his gloved fingers, but was cold and lifeless. Against the vicious winds he was almost thrown aside from her, but he holds firm, if only it means she would not disappear from his grasp. A whisper of utter despair leaves his lips, "I would be lost without you..."

He was becoming hysterical and he knew it. His breathing was fast and sharp. He couldn't do this. He couldn't watch her die. But he had to. He had no choice but to watch, to watch those parted lips give silent painful cries as her fate was sealed. Eyelids slammed shut in utter despair as his crystal tears fell faster.

A final smile brimming with warmth graced her lips for the Guardian as her body, starting from the tips of her hair, began fading away. The vanishing parts lost all colour—spreading further like a murderous disease. The parts of her that were lost were mere outlines, her very existence ceasing to exist. She was going—leaving him.

Onyx eyes widened. The feminine hand beneath his fingertips was also consumed. His breathing caught when his hand horrifyingly seeped through the outlines of her lost hand.

Only when her physical body was fully lost did her outline then magically lift to the beckoning Twin Moons.

Everything suddenly halted and became tensely silent, all except for a gentle breeze rustling through the remaining trees. Debris from the destructive occurrence was the only evidence that the horror had even occurred. Destroying flames abruptly distinguished. The howling hurricane calmed. Everything went deathly still.

All of a sudden thunder rumbled in the distance, grey clouds of misery obscuring the skies and the Twin Moons that had finally revived their normal pearly glow. Rain began to drizzle across the wounded land, washing ash and blood away.

But Rayman did not feel the chill in the stormy air, or the cold wetness of the rain as it pounded against his skin, or even his own mind skidding to a shocked halt. All he could hear were her last words repeating themselves, over and over, fainter and fainter, and his pounding heart, over and over, louder and louder.

With no wind to push him back he fell onto his hands and knees in complete aghast. Had it really just happened? Had...she just...

The screams of the fleeing Teensies were replaced with sounds of confusion. All their black beady eyes slowly turned to their Guardian, who was frightfully motionless in the middle of the clearing, feeling the atmosphere of terrible loss emanating from the hero. Some turned with saddened eyes to each other with expressions of sympathy. Some removed their hats of many colours, shapes and sizes to show respect for their Guardian's mourning of a lost comrade.

Around Rayman the hundreds of Teensies agonisingly slowly trudged closer, halting considerately metres away to give the grieving male some space. At least they allowed him some form of private comfort. They were all whispering in concern to each other, but Rayman could hear nothing but the one thought repeating itself over and over inside his mind.

_She's gone...Ly is gone._

Clenching his fists, he glared at the two full moons. His tearful eyes were sharp, hateful, determined. He swiftly raised a fist to the sky. A furious growl left him—an eternal oath, "I swear I'll find a way, Ly. I will bring you back—even if it's the last thing I do!"

Every Teensie jumped as the raised fist plummeted to the ground. The echoing boom it made sealed his furious oath. The enraged power behind it left a mighty crack in the earth. All the witnesses were left trembling in wonder at the static energy crackling in the air. Rayman had sworn a serious oath to not only himself, but also the deities of this world.

The _world_ was safe.

_He_ was safe.

But Ly was gone...

And he would get her back.

**Oh, how I miss him so. It has been many years since that fateful day and he has physically matured to a very handsome teenager, one that I wish I had not been forced to leave with all of my heart. Even now, five years later from that awful tragedy in his life, he still mourns for me. I can not say that it does not touch my heart when I see he is still trying to discover a way to bring me back, or that it does not break my heart when I watch him shed a tear. **

**But as I already stated, this was my fate and it was sealed from the first day Polokus had envisioned it and written it in history. It was an unstoppable prophecy from the Goddesses.**

**My story is over and I accept that. Yet, he still searches for a way to get to me—which pains me so. I watch him search across the lands, searching far and wide, until he reaches a long forgotten swamp. **

**And that is where **_**his**_** story begins.**

xXEnd of ChapterXx

PLEASE READ! Okay, now I said this is based in Rayman 3—which it is—but you maybe a little confused. I will clear it up now: I never focus solely on one game; I create a world using a variety of games from the series, so it is a mixed game story. You will understand as the story progresses as you see how I have intertwined the games. THERE ARE NO VILE RABBIDS! They are not in this story, so don't worry. ^^

Obviously, the oldest proper game was Rayman 3 where he_ looks_ like he has grown up much more. That and there are not enough stories for the Rayman 3 world in my opinion, so here is one from me.

Please review and I hope you like it. :D


	2. Chapter 1: Catch Me, Catch Me If You Can

**Apologies, I hate how this chapter turned out *sigh* as it feels, to me, like it does not flow. I did write this chapter 3 years ago along with six others, so I had to change it immensely...but it still feels odd. :(**

**It will feel better when I start writing chapters for real (like the prologue, I wrote that recently) instead of these altered chapters from 3 years ago.**

**Oh well, hope you still like it. :)**

**P.S. Thank you incredibly much **_**"TheLuckyNumber7"**_** for being my first reviewer, the first ones always mean a lot. :) It really got me motivated to get this official 1****st**** chapter corrected and online. Glad you like it and hope to hear from you again. :D**

When The Tables Have Turned

Chapter 1: Catch Me, Catch Me If You Can

Footsteps echoed down narrow corridors, desolated corridors that were silent enough for one to hardly assume a living soul resided within these mansion walls. In fact, the silence appeared to physically choke as it clamped savagely on the neck of the intruder like a threatening vice. As penetrating and chilling as the atmosphere was, it appeared it still unfazed Rayman.

As Rayman's gloved hand clenched, he glared at finding the atmosphere too still, nearly unnoticeable shivers wracking his spine at the hair-prickling stillness of this mansion...It screamed danger.

Onyx eyes curiously observed his surroundings. They were sparkling in curiosity, yet hidden deep beneath their surface could be seen a barricade of caution, of self warning. In truth, they were as black as coals, coals seemingly on fire in a way that no one could describe by mere words alone. Some would attempt and call it the flames of utter arrogance. Others would call it determination to find something dear that was lost.

Rayman growled irritably at his exceptionally loud feet; the last thing he needed was to draw attention. Deep down, he felt more than believed that there was someone secretly awaiting him. His heart rate unexplainably quickened; he realised he felt like a mouse wandering near a volatile trap, not quite hitting the trigger, but so close you could practically hear the clank of the trap-door snapping him in—

"I have always wanted a Rayman skinned rug in front of my fireplace."

Rayman's head shot up, golden hair gracefully whipping away from narrowed eyes. A sudden thrill surged through him when he spotted the unmistakable barrel of a gun pointing at him. From the top of the stairs stood a male stranger, making him raise an amused eyebrow at the obvious intent to blow his head off. Did this guy seriously not know who he was dealing with? A mischievous grin lights Rayman's lips as the gun fires, but he dodges the shot easily with a simple flip. He landed soundlessly on the stairs, much closer to the other than before.

"I do believe you're clueless," Rayman scoffed. Cockily pretending to examine his gloved nails, he sent a challenging smirk the Hunter's way. "Ya have to actually _catch_ me first."

The Hunter at the top of the stairs seethed, "I'll cut you down to size pipsqueak. Nobody escapes Razoff the Hunter!"

Swiftly reloading his gun, Razoff visibly faltered at seeing the other bolting up the remaining steps to meet him face to face. He released a short and fearful yelp at spotting a fist preparing to propel his way. It appeared his annoying intruder preferred_ fist_ to face. With a glare, he ran and escaped down the closest corridor.

"I thought_ I_ was meant to be running, _Hunter?"_ Rayman mocked after him. The powerful energy from his charging fist roared in his ears, tingled in the tips of his golden hair, shone dazzling in his pursuing eyes. "What? The predator becomes the prey already?"

Rayman discovered the corridor was barely lit, the darkness instantly consuming him in its shadowy jaws. Barely able to distinguish walls from floors, he blinked glowing eyes once, then twice in the darkness, and could hear the Hunter's feet rapidly ebbing away. He glowered, hurrying on since he would lose him. Yet, he did not even know why he was following.

Briskly escaping the darkness, Rayman burst into a candlelit corridor, never stopping as he hurriedly pressed on. As he followed in hot pursuit of the Hunter, he faltered. His eyes abruptly glazed over mid-sprint, trying to ignore the voices continuing to scream warnings inside his head. They were getting louder and louder, bouncing insanely inside his skull like an ever-present buzz. Perhaps it was just his subconscious trying to hold him back. His jaw tightened; something felt heart wrenchingly amiss. It was as if the metaphorical trap had still not been triggered yet. It was waiting for him, luring him...

Anxiously, Rayman ran faster. On running into the next room he noticed a single red sofa with a peculiar telescope standing before it, but he paid it no mind. His shoes thudded alarmingly loud on the floorboards. He sped past stone statues depicting many foreign creatures in a blur as he hastily charged out. A flash crossed his eyes when detecting a glimpse of Razoff's coat just before the Hunter vanished around the corner.

Without even thinking, Rayman dashed around the bend. Suddenly gasping he skidded to a halt. Black eyes widened. Razoff smirked triumphantly down the corridor; experienced eyes locked on, gun glinting in the candlelight—aimed securely on him. The gun fired. Rayman just managed to scoot back enough for it to miss, barely. The bullet embedded in the wooden floor inches from his feet.

Disrespectfully, Rayman yawned. "Is that the best you can do?"

Razoff's anger visibly boiled to dangerous levels, his hold on his gun shaking with fury. Rayman merely grinned.

"You know, I pitied you. Now, I have no remorse in shooting you down," Razoff growled, furiously reloading his gun and swiftly pointing it in-between the other's eyes.

Before the Hunter could release the trigger, he cried out painfully at a sudden harsh hit to his stomach. It was powerful, making him lose his balance, making him stagger back and gasp as his aim was completely thrown off. Incredulously, Razoff looked at the other who only stared challengingly back. As Razoff tenderly grasped his stomach with heavy breaths, Rayman glared at seeing the thoughtful look in his eyes.

With narrowed eyes, the Hunter decided to retreat for now. Gun in hand, he fled around the corner.

Rayman was hot on his heels in a heartbeat.

The Guardian immediately spotted the large mirror in the next room, but could only have a small glance at his grinning self since Razoff was escaping. In exiting the room he chased the Hunter up several flights of red-carpeted steps. He was utterly oblivious to his surroundings. Where he was going he had no idea. Immediately, his subconscious began to scream 'turn back!'

On barging up into the next room, Rayman instantly coughed. An unexpected wave of dust had hit him. His eyes widened and he spluttered in alarm at the sudden musky scent wafting through the air. It was so intoxicating, filling his lungs to the point they were too full to breathe. Violently coughing made his eyes suddenly water. A growl of frustration rumbled from his throat as, squeezing his eyes shut, he was forced to a stop to wipe his eyes. It was just too thick; the air was too thick, like breathing through smoke.

It seemed that he had entered the attic. A blanket of dust covered the many piles of large barrels and rested upon the surfaces of the wooden boxes scattered about the room. Cobwebs fluttered in a small draft that was entering the attic from somewhere unknown. Rayman could literally see the dust hovering thickly in the air and he covered his mouth as another cough rattled through him when he involuntarily breathed more in. Desperately coughing, he rubbed his large, irritated eyes—he could not see properly.

He luckily managed to stop the irritation and kept chasing, although he cursed under his breath at finding his sight still had a slight haze. No longer smirking as cockily as before, the thought suddenly hit him that he was even luckier that Razoff had not taken the opportunity to go back and shoot him whilst vulnerable. He tripped from his altered vision and sneered, wanting to get out of the attic as soon as possible.

He bolted out of the attic like demons were snapping at his heels and leapt down the steps two at a time as fast as he could. Razoff was nowhere to be found.

At the next corner, Rayman glared venomously at it. His next steps were slow—deliberately gentle, yet cautious as he approached—but froze when the boards screeched beneath the pressure like screaming alerts of his presence to the Mansion Master. Annoyed, he snorted. For all he knew, he would come face to face with the barrel of a familiar gun for a third time. Clinging to the wall with his purple clad back flush up against it, he distinctively heard the sound of a gun reloading and knowingly smirked. His heart began thundering in his ears. It rapidly pounded, coursing through his veins. Silently, he slid closer. The edge drew nearer. Ever so slowly, he peered around the corner.

Rayman blinked in confusion...there was nothing there.

Rayman cautiously stepped out from hiding and descended slowly down the next stairs. One of his hands was at the rail whilst the other was at the ready. Eyebrows furrowed; there was that musky scent again. He felt alert now more than ever, giving a quiet snort at the extreme silence that was unnervingly stretching—Razoff was no longer close by.

He was foolishly not looking where he going and gave a startled yelp when the final stair disappeared from beneath his footing. On landing the foot unexpectedly crunched, making him flinch. Wildly darting his eyes to the floor, he discovered mirror shards scattered about the floorboards. Had Razoff heard that? Was the Hunter watching his prey from afar? He shakily took a breath and gazed down at his distorted reflection in the many broken shards. All the many fragments were staring back at him with just as much unease. They were all yelling at him: 'turn back! Turn back!'

Yet, despite his inner torrent of warnings, he let himself relax slightly, foolishly putting his guard down. Deep down he knew this was a grave mistake. But the atmosphere of this place, it just suddenly seemed so safe, soft, sensual...

Rayman groaned and gripped his head, what was wrong with him?

His hair twitched slightly at hearing the noise of clockwork from the next room enticing him onward, the cogs clanking against each other as they turned. Clonk, clonk, clank, was the resounding metallic pattern as they collided with every twist and turn. Curiosity took over his better judgment. Although he knew he should not let his guard down—just shouldn't—on his own accord he ended up following the sounds as if snared in a trance. He was lead to a_ very_ large room, the biggest one he had seen in the mansion by far.

As he stepped further in, he immediately realised he was on the second floor of the room. A fire was burning brightly in the hearth. Flickering embers warmly lighted up two, single, crimson sofas with their comforting glow. The shadows swayed and danced about the corners, scurrying away from the firelight. They all seemed to call to him like enticing demons in a dream for him to sit with them. _Why does this place suddenly feel so...inviting? _He suspiciously thought at what was, from his sole perspective, an unnaturally homey scene.

Casually leaning on the banister to force his gaze away, Rayman sighed and instead stared at his reflection in the tiled floor below. It was obvious he did not want to think on it any longer as he ran a hand through his hair with a disgruntled huff. He tried to shrug it off as nothing as he continued to stare at those shiny topaz and ruby tiles.

Rayman all of a sudden frowned and launched off the wooden banister, wanting nothing more than to dispel his doubt. His helicopter eased him down to the floor below. A single tap echoed on his landing.

Where on earth could the Hunter be? He felt a false sense of victory, but something was terribly wrong. Yet it seemed Razoff had obviously lost him. What could possibly be wrong?

A grin plastered his face as he walked ahead towards the door-less archway, grinning while he cockily brushes some imaginary dust off his hood. Or was it truly imaginary? Unbeknownst to him, something pale, a dusty substance, nearly invisible...glittered on his hood.

Rayman said, "I guess he finally—

Suddenly the door slams down in his face. He gasps and whips his head around to the other door. That too crashes down with a bang—sealing him in. He grasped the metal handle tightly and pulled. It wouldn't budge.

"So...you've fallen into my trap, hmm?" Razoff evilly chuckled.

Rayman sharply looked up to try and find him with a growl.

Razoff's voice was echoing off the walls and it was hard to pinpoint where it was originating from. Another laugh followed and Rayman felt his own temper rising.

"Where are you?" Rayman demanded.

"I can see you, but you can't see me," Razoff burst out laughing as he looked through his blue aiming system, watching gleefully as Rayman was right in the centre of his target.

The Hunter sat back comfortably in his red chair and smirked triumphantly, his plan could not have gone better.

_He's messing with my head, _Rayman angrily thought, taking a couple of hesitant steps further into the trapped room. His eyes softened, _But why do I feel so relaxed?_

"You look a little confused, my _prey_," Razoff happily informed as he spotted the odd expression of confusion on the other's face. He crossed his red coat covered arms in his seat; this prey of his was quite amusing. He put his fingertips together in a contemplating gesture and closed his eyes for a few moments, before suddenly nodding agreeably with himself. He silently unloaded his gun so that it did not catch the other's attention and opened up a draw next to him. As he slowly reloaded the gun with this different ammo he asked, "Want me to elaborate?"

"Fine, amuse me," Rayman drawled, perplexed.

Rayman felt confused, he was fully with it, he was sure of it, but for some reason his muscles were overly relaxed and everything about this place appeared welcoming. It was as if he was on some sort of high.

"Very well, it was my plan from the beginning for you to follow me. I have been analysing your actions and I knew that you would take chase. Little did you know that you were walking straight into a trap," Razoff was moving around the subject instead of answering it, biding himself time as he adjusted the targeting system so that Rayman was perfectly aligned. "You attack from a distance with your fists, so I couldn't do a normal direct approach. So, I decided to...slow you down a little."

"Get to the point!"

On Razoff's end everything was set to go and he chuckled lightly.

"In the attic you breathed in the dust, correct?" The Hunter idly rested his arms behind his head in his warm, cosy seat. Rayman nodded in agreement in the centre of his blue target frame. "I was considerably far ahead, so I released a drug into the air. Because of all of the dust you didn't notice the difference between the dust...and the fine powdered general anaesthetic."

The Guardian's eyes widened, so that was why he felt so fuzzy. He growled and clenched his fists, why hadn't he picked it up before? Or, more appropriately, he had, but he had stupidly ignored the signs and his internal warnings. He slapped a hand to his face, how could he have been so stupid!

He shot his head up at hearing the sound of a trigger being pulled. He launched himself behind a statue as a small clang filled the air. A feral growl escaped him at noticing his reactions were considerably slower, the drug was fully kicking in and he glared furiously at the floor. He was struggling.

"Hold still now, this won't hurt a bit," Razoff taunted and reloaded his gun with more of the special ammo. He could only shoot one of these at a time. For good measure he smiled and pressed a green button on his control panel.

Rayman jumped as he felt the cold surface of the statue he had been leaning against suddenly lower into the tiles and disappear. There were no more places to hide—he was fully exposed. It was then he noticed what he had previously thought had been a bullet sticking solidly out of the floor from the missed shot. Eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"That's a—

A bang filled the air. He had let his guard down once too many. He attempted to jump up and move out of the way, but his muscles were too relaxed for his reflexes to be quick enough. Crying out in pain he was hit. He looked down at his side; a syringe pierced it, making him sharply hiss in discomfort. The transparent liquid swiftly injected. Clenching his eyes tightly shut, he yanked it from his body and threw it across the room. It clinked and scuttled across the tiled floor. As Rayman clutched at his agonised side, he stumbled.

He cursed weakly under his breath; everything was turning blurry, _too_ blurry. He felt so cold, so numb. Through gritted teeth he hissed, "Damn..."

The sound of one of the doors opening set his heart pounding. His breathing became irregular as he fell back against a wall and slid to the floor. His vision was so hazy that all he could see was a distant red blur coming towards him, and he knew exactly who it was. Shakily, he tried to force himself up. He couldn't do it. He could feel his eyelids shutting on their own accord, his vision turning black. His breaths came short and desperate. His heart thudded in his ears. He saw the red blur kneel in front of him and struggled against his failing body even more desperately.

"There, there now," Razoff reassured, but his voice was merely a distant whisper to failing ears. Razoff watched as the smaller figure shook his head and attempted to open his closed eyes. "The more you fight it, the more you suffer."

"N-No..." Rayman muttered feebly, his tongue feeling too numb to speak.

It was now completely impossible to open his eyes. Everything was pitch-black. _Why isn't he killing me? I'm completely at his mercy—_

Rayman instantly flinched at suddenly being picked up. He attempted to struggle, but he hardly moved. He felt a warm shoulder under his chin and felt Razoff carrying him away. He was desperate; he had never felt so desperate before. He had to get out of here—he had to get away. He had to get Ly back.

His eyes sharpened with determination. With a wildly racing heart, he futilely tried to push out of the others grip. He realised in humiliation that he was whimpering faintly whilst trying so hard to fight against the drug coursing through his veins, his own weak sounds stabbing at his pride. It got to the point that he couldn't think anymore. His breathing was harsh. He felt himself drifting, failing.

"Just relax. It'll be over soon."

"No...Ly..."

But despite his efforts, he could not hold up any longer. All of a sudden the cold feeling that had enveloped his body became soothing. Muscles fully relaxed and he felt his heart slow. Once laboured breathing calmed to more subtle breaths. He allowed his head to rest against the shoulder as he, unwillingly, drifted off to sleep.

In feeling the obvious change in his captive, Razoff kept moving towards his cellar feeling a lot more satisfied with a sleeping version. He was actually afraid that his prey would have forced himself through the drug.

Entering the foyer, he passed the stairs and entered the door that descended into his cellar—Rayman in his clutches.

The entire mansion fell deadly silent.


	3. Chapter 2: Finally Awakening

Chapter 2: Finally Awakening

Rayman slowly felt himself coming to when the numb sensations started fading away. As his eyelids gradually fluttered open, he groaned as his senses slowly came to, with the first thing he spotted being the semi darkness and the chains hanging from the ceiling. Stone archways laced with cobwebs above allowed dim beams of light to split the darkness through crumbling cracks and holes. There was a damp scent wafting through the room which tickled his newly awakened sense of smell and made him furrow his eyebrows. The air felt cool, but not uncomfortably cold, prickling gently on his skin as he gave a small shiver. He swallowed unsurely at the horrid tension building in his stomach.

Where ever he was it was unwelcoming.

Groggily groaning, he ran a hand dazedly through his hair, taking note of the fact he was sitting up in a bed in one corner of the room. Feeling the soft white sheets in-between his gloved fingers, he began to wonder why it was so comfortable.

_I thought I was his prisoner?_

Trying to think made the room suddenly spin and he grasped his head, moaning. His croaky voice sounded quiet, even to his own ears. Obviously the drug was not fully out of his system quite yet.

Hesitantly removing the bed sheet aside he curved his feet over the edge of the bed and felt them touch the stone floor, but in attempting to stand he trembled a little from the effort and lost feeling for a few seconds. Yet, a flash still crossed his eyes...he would not stay here, _could _not stay here.

With black eyes glinting sharp onyx in determination, he forced himself through the horrid fog clouding his mind. After a moment he clenched his fists and shut his eyes with a sigh, he could not remain trapped here—just couldn't, not ever—he had to discover a way to escape and get Ly back.

Another hefty sigh escaped him, before he looked warily to his surroundings. By simple observation he deduced that he was, indeed, in a cellar, a very _large_ cellar. It was as big as the whole first floor of the mansion and looked like a maze of grey archways, chinking chains and ghostly cobwebs.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he slowly made his way to the door just through the nearest archway. When he reached it and tried the handle it was predictably locked.

He muttered irritably, "I thought as much. That fiend seriously wouldn't have made it that easy."

Rayman put a puzzled hand to his muzzle as he examined the door for a minute or two. He prodded at hinges, knocked on the wood, peered through the keyhole, glanced under that tiny crack of light fanning from below the door, making quiet hums of investigation the entire time. Nothing. Absolutely nothing, all except that glimpse of the key hanging on the other side of the door on a measly hook through the keyhole. Rayman growled low in his throat, it taunted him.

Finding nothing of value to his escape and having no power or coordination to punch the door, he turned around to cautiously explore the small area of the cellar he was in, still in slight daze like a misty night veiled his thoughts, and took in his current prison in detail. He opened a simple wooden door close to his bed with a creak and blinked at finding an extremely simple bathroom, yet he also suspiciously glared at finding no bath. The smell was strangely clean and not the disgusting odour he had expected. The old white sink and toilet was strangely spotless, as if someone had recently cleaned it.

Now that his eyes had adjusted fully to the poor lighting he could clearly see the outlines of barrels around the edges of this small section of the cellar. With his hair twitching in curiosity, he made his way towards them.

It was strange, as oblivious as it was, how he had simply walked passed the simplest object without even batting an eyelid.

How he had passed that second bed perched opposite his own.

Suddenly a loud metallic bang filled the air when an old bucket suddenly tumbled out from behind an archway. Rayman visibly jumped. He reflexively spun around, nearly passing out from dizziness. The worn bucket rolled across the stone, the scratching metal piercing the deadly silence. He was completely still with eyes locked on the object like a hawk. Dust and dirt was churned up in its mysterious wake.

"Who's there?" Rayman ordered.

Nothing answered.

He was instantly alert at a shuffling sound echoing throughout the cellar from whatever was hiding. As Rayman's jaw tightened and he got into a fighting stance, he subconsciously knew he was not quite ready for a fight when a sharp pang of pain skewered his brain like a stake, his eyes becoming unfocused as he stumbled. The acknowledgement of his own weakness was clear in his expression and a sour look passed his face. That drug was still strong in his veins.

A minute ticked by and still nothing came out. Rayman glared, deciding to go to _it _instead. Slowly, he approached the supposed hiding place, carefully making his steps silent as more shuffling was heard. Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, his gloved hands touched the cold stone wall of an archway; travelling inch by inch as he swivelled around to peer around the edge. What he saw was completely overshadowed and the creature was hidden from view by shadows.

"Come out!" Rayman's stern voice punctured the tension and he saw the creature jump in the darkness. It seemed genuinely afraid and his eyes softened, it was obviously another victim of the Hunter. Realising this, he added a tad more softly, "I won't hurt ya...whoever ya are."

The creature seemed to analyse him for second, unmoving, uncertain, unconvinced. Rayman's hair twitched in wonder as, painfully slowly, the being began to step out. It came closer and further out of the shadows, gradually becoming visible. As it came further into a dusty light beam it was completely exposed. What Rayman saw shocked him so greatly that his eyes widened and he gulped.

"Wh-Who are you?" Rayman asked incredulously, stepping out so he could respectively be in full view of the other. They were directly in front each of other, barely a metre apart—observing one another.

The reason its appearance shocked him so greatly was because it was just like him.

It was obviously a male because of his build. He was not cream coloured and pale like him, but quite the opposite with skin as black as the midnight sky. The two pieces of hair that were on Rayman's head stuck upward, but this stranger had tied his hair back behind his head in a small ponytail with an deep green hair tie, leaving only a couple of large bangs to slightly obscure those frightened emerald irises. His muzzle and the tips of his hair were a pale blue which reminded Rayman of moonlight in the blackness that was the rest of his skin and hair. He seemed nervous, which caught Rayman's attention since it seemed this character was quite shy.

They were complete opposites: one pale whilst the other dark, one curious and outgoing whilst the other shy and secluded.

After there was still no answer, Rayman tried again, a heart lifting smile on his features. "What's you're name?"

Silence passed between the two for a few moments.

"My name is..." The other began in an unsure whisper as he fiddled with his pale blue scarf. The answering voice was low, but gentle, quiet and timid—smooth and pleasant like a calming bell. He seemed extremely nervous in giving his name. "...V-Vincent"

Rayman nodded at the answer, his eyes actually distracted by the constant fiddling of the other. He examined the other's clothing and instantly noticed the light blue scarf (like a scarf you would wear in the winter) that matched his moonlight highlights, around his neck. Rayman raised an eyebrow at the pattern-less and plain black body clothing, but took note of how the scarf draping halfway down his body made up for it. The royal blue and black laced boots of the other were timidly scraping the ground.

Vincent obviously seemed uncomfortable with the staring and Rayman grinned in apology, rubbing the back of his own head sheepishly.

"I'm Rayman, nice to meet ya," Rayman winked, gentleness in his eyes. "I never knew there were others like me."

Rayman removed the hand from behind his head to friendly offer it to the other. Vincent was motionless for a few seconds, just staring at the offered hand in apprehension, seeming genuinely unsure of this new stranger. After a moment he hesitantly took it and Rayman tilted his head in wonder at realising Vincent would not meet his eyes.

Vincent _still_ would not look him in the eyes as he stammered, "I...I thought me and my sister were the only ones."

Rayman finally stopped shaking the other's hand. Vincent blinked innocently at Rayman's shocked expression.

"Ya have a sister?" Rayman excitedly burst out and Vincent gave a hesitant nod in confirmation. "Is she here too?"

At the other's sudden crestfallen expression, the Guardian felt his excitement falter. Vincent trailed his eyes over the filthy stone cobbles and held his invisible arms.

"No...She is not here," Vincent whispered solemnly. Still refusing to make eye contact with the other he continued shakily, "M-My sister vanished from our home long ago; I went out in search of her and ended up getting caught here. I have been trapped here ever since, for a year, and I do not even know if she is...still..."

_He was looking for someone, just like I'm looking for Ly. At least we have something in common._

"She's probably fine," Rayman chimed at seeing the other struggling. The night-coloured one blinked innocently at the other's boundless optimism. "She's probably thinking about ya as we speak."

Deep down, Rayman tried to convince himself he was not also referring to Ly. He forcibly kept his face smiling for the other with some effort as past horrors plagued his thoughts.

Vincent closed his eyes and refused to smile at feeling Rayman's hand briefly touch his back in reassurance. He continued not meeting the others gaze, but could feel the pure sympathy and confidence Rayman was mentally sending him.

"Is she older or younger?"

Vincent gave a very quiet chuckle at seeing that Rayman was a curious type. But as quickly as the chuckle came it disappeared as if he was afraid of it. At detecting this, Rayman's eyes softened further.

"We are twins. But I think I am a little shorter," Was the answer. Rayman cocked an eyebrow at noticing that Vincent was also a little shorter than him as well, perhaps slightly younger?

All of a sudden a cold glaze passed over Vincent's eyes as he sighed in despair. Rayman's breath caught abruptly and his heart froze. That look...it was one of pure hopelessness.

"Apologies, bringing up my sister is...painful," Vincent screwed his eyes shut in a grimace. He kept them shut as he continued without a shred of emotion, "I have no memories, all except fragments of her. I...do not remember my childhood, home or friends—if I had any. I do not even remember my favourite foods, hobbies or colours. All I can remember is her, but her name still eludes me. I just know that she is my sister, but I know nothing about her. I lost my memory a long time ago."

The Guardian felt a sense of pity towards the other as he watched him continue to fiddle nervously with his scarf. Who could live like that? Live with no memories but know they are there—ever so slightly out of reach? It must be like trying to grasp something, but you are merely centimetres away from actually taking a hold of it. However, Rayman had to swallow and look away from those emotionless eyes when he saw how the guy had given up hope on ever grasping them. His memories must still be there, skimming on the edge of his mind in waiting.

"Well, we better get ready since it seems that the drug is wearing off."  
The interruption yanked Rayman from his thoughts and he cocked an eyebrow. "Ready?" He looked confusedly to the other. "Ready for what?"

"You mean, you do not know?" Vincent questioned. In honest answer Rayman just shook his head. "You have been captured for a reason," He paused, taking a nervous breath as if to prepare himself for something drastic. For the first time since he had met him he frightfully met Rayman's eyes.

"You are now Razoff's slave."  
It took a second of shocked silence for the bomb to hit.

XXXX

"What!" Was the muffled out yell from downstairs, and Razoff lifted his head at the sound. "You've gotta be kidding me!"

"I see the new one has finally arisen," Razoff casually sighed in his red sofa next to the fire, the flames sparking and flickering warmly in the darkness of the room as the two moons outside gave little light through the uncovered window. Shutting the black leather bound book he was reading, he grabbed his red hat resting on the arm of the chair. "About time, it has been three days."

XXXX

"P-Please, be quiet, he will h-hear you," Vincent stuttered in alarm. His petrified eyes kept darting to the locked cellar door.

"Let him hear! Let the whole world of Polokus know! I WILL NEVER BE HIS SLAVE!" Rayman roared in uncontrollable rage.

Fury. That was all he felt. How dare him! How _dare _that Hunter—that _monster!_ Suddenly, in his distress, a wave of dizziness washed over him; maybe the drug had not completely worn off yet after all.

"Please, if you do not do it for him, then do it for me," Vincent whispered as he noticed the cloudy glaze in his companions eyes; it looked like Rayman was going to pass out. "I have been locked up here for so long. I have been looking after this entire mansion all by myself. I am exhausted. You could help me. So if not for him...then do it for me? Please?"

The room was filled with choking suspense, the tense silence drilling into the two captives. Rayman glared at the floor with clenched fists, hardly believing what he had just been told. How could he, _Rayman_, possibly accept something so demeaning? However, as soon as he looked into Vincent's downcast and tired eyes, he felt something in his angered heart cave. For the other just looked so innocent and unfairly worn.

A troubled sigh escaped the newly captured. One gloved hand went up to rub the bridge of his large nose. Having already surrendered, he leaned against the wall as a wave of nausea washed over him and sighed, "Fine, but I won't like it, or _accept it _easily. And the minute I spot an escape I'm going for it, and I'm taking ya with me."

Vincent gave a relieved bow at his acceptance. "Thank you."

At that moment the sound of the door being unlocked filled their ears and the door squeakily swung open to reveal Razoff. His posture was straight with his hands behind his back as he walked in. When Razoff looked at Vincent the other shyly took a step back, but when Razoff turned to Rayman leant against the wall, he earned a glazed over glare.

"Still not fully recovered, I see," Razoff spoke into the stiff silence, directly at Rayman.

Rayman hissed with venom oozing from his voice, "Ya don't want to talk to me when I am."

Razoff chuckled lightly in response—this new one had guts. Vincent felt himself sweat at the cockiness behind the other's hazy eyes.

"Oh? I can tell that you're going to be a feisty one to tame. A challenge, I like that," Razoff smiled.

Rayman smirked, "I'd like to see ya try."

Rayman tried to stand up, but the dizziness was too much. Almost immediately, he fell back against the cold wall with heavy pants. He inaudibly cursed under his breath at his own weakness.

"You're also stubborn, that will be your downfall," Razoff informed his new slave who only glared tiredly back. "Vincent, put him back to bed and once you're done you need to wash the tiled floors upstairs."

"Y-Yes Razoff," Vincent stuttered. When he saw a slender hand being pulled back ready to strike him he instantly corrected himself, "M-Master Razoff."

Razoff muttered and put down his hand, "Good boy, you don't normally make that mistake so I will let you off. Be prompt and hop to it...lock the door on the way out."

Vincent hastily helped Rayman back to his bed just as the sound of the door shutting echoed throughout the cellar. It was that dreadful sound—the sound of finality.

_I can tell that Rayman is not going to take it well when he discovers the title he must state,_ Vincent nervously thought as he pulled the white sheet up to Rayman's chin. The other was already sleeping soundly before he had even touched the mattress. Vincent watched his new companion's peacefully sleeping face for a few moments, before grabbing the overturned bucket from before and a mop resting against the wall in the dark corner he had hidden in. He sighed, he had work to do.

Quietly slipping out of the cellar, Vincent shut the door and grabbed the key on the rusty hook. The last major sound in the stone cellar was the door being locked and the only sounds remaining were Rayman's small, gentle snores.

And so, the beginning of the horror began.

**xXEnd of ChapterXx**

**Not much to say, the chapter speaks for itself. Hope you liked it. :)**

**COPYRIGHT: Vincent is mine and belongs to me.**


	4. Razoff's Slave: A Horrid First Day Part1

Sonicgirl582  
**When The Tables Have Turned**  
Chapter 3: Razoff's slave: A horrid first day 

**Part 1**

The next time Rayman awoke upon his bed, he found himself lying there with a horrid twisting sensation pulling at his stomach. It harshly churned and curled like a coiled snake in his gut, causing a terrible tension to build deep inside of him. Was he sick? No, he merely shook his head with a sigh at that, knowing that this feeling was one of horrifying realisation. Oh, how he wished he was sick rather than the truth.

His heart plummeted into the unsettled pit of his stomach.

He was Razoff's slave.

_Rayman_ was Razoff's slave.

That and he desperately needed the bathroom—how could he have possibly not gone in four days? He shot up and rushed to the bathroom without a second thought. And yet, as he shut himself away in the bathroom, for the very little amount of time he had been awake, he could not shake off the nagging feeling that he was forgetting something...or _someone._

When he reappeared with a relieved sigh, the damp scent of the cellar filled his senses and the warm atmosphere of the day settled on his skin despite being locked away. He blinked at instantly spotting that the beams of light shining down into the darkness were now tainted orange, signalling that the lights were on upstairs. It signalled that it was a new and unnerving day, and it secretly gnawed at his conscious.

"Dreading it already? You have not even started."

At that generally silky voice, Rayman could not help but feel at least a little bit more at ease—he was not alone in this one. He turned and smiled that bright smile that could light the darkest of nights to Vincent. The smile was just so bright it appeared to have a sort of glow of its own.

Vincent was just sitting there on a wooden barrel fiddling with his scarf; he looked so innocent as he switched to examining his black and blue boots instead. He had obviously been waiting patiently for the other to reappear. He just sat there expressionlessly, seeming lost within the labyrinth of himself. Not another word left those lips of his as if he was just too shy to try.

Rayman visibly pondered at the fact that it appeared Vincent was still secluded around him, despite their exact current circumstances. _It seems he avoids eye contact as much as possible as well;_ Rayman mentally realised, eyes sharpening when Vincent, feeling his unwavering stares, turned rigid. The Guardian merely sighed with a calm smile and looked away to make the other more comfortable, storing this information in the back of his mind for later. Deep down he knew he really needed Vincent to warm up to him.

Rayman laughed. "Can ya blame me?"

"Not really," The other answered, his first small yet emotionless smile gracing his lips. His eyes were timidly locked to the dusty ground. "I have been asked to give you your jobs, your first task is to clean out all of the chimneys, and if completed before the day is out you must change all of the light bulbs." He suddenly lifted his gaze slightly to stare at Rayman's mattress instead. "I will also take this time to state that I have one rule for the cellar: always shut the door on the way out and keep it shut when you are in. Please remember."

Rayman sighed at the other's withdrawn behaviour. "Tasks don't seem too hard, but I still hate the bast—"

"Here is the map, the red dots signal fireplaces and the black ones signal where lights are," Vincent interrupted quickly as if cursing frightened him, handing over the brownish map. Rayman gave him a mischievous grin for the interruption which made Vincent fiddle with his scarf even more frantically.

"What are you doing today?" Rayman suddenly asked out of nowhere, observing the vast amount to do on the map. Maybe striking casual conversation would pull Vincent out of his withdrawn self more.

Vincent just could not hold back the extremely hollow smile at his companion's curious nature. Rayman just seemed to be the sort of person that could bring any sort of smile to people, could bring life into any room, despite all the miseries against it. But...Vincent did not know how to smile, at least ones involving emotions or the heart. What were they supposed to be anyway? He had lost the meaning for the those a long time ago.

"So many questions...I have the smaller ones today, cleaning the dishes and such. It seems that Master Razoff is already trying to cut you down by giving you the most time consuming and unpleasant jobs."

Vincent blinked innocently as Rayman cocked an eyebrow at him, both for the term 'Master Razoff' and his statement.

"Oh yes, changing light bulbs is such a _strenuous_ task," Sarcasm dripped from Rayman's tone, yet another grin was plastered across his face.

The black and blue of the two suddenly stated so unemotionally you would have thought he was not alive, "Do not underestimate any task; Master Razoff will make it difficult for you. I guarantee it."

Whipping his head up, golden hair bouncing naturally out of his eyes, Rayman stared fixedly at his companion. Vincent's eyes were closed in what one could only call misery if you looked hard enough through his expressionless mask. He seemed to be remembering back to his first days of enslavement. Rayman's black eyes softened somewhat, taking note of how the other always reigned in his emotions...as if he was too afraid to feel.

Vincent felt the insistent staring and opened his eyes, blinking. Their eyes connected for a mere moment. Vincent frightfully looked away.

Rayman hurriedly looked back down to the map and cleared his throat, "I better get started; it seems I've got quite a bit to do unfortunately."

The other nodded in shy agreement, fiddling with his scarf again as he began to walk away towards the cellar door.

"Oh, and Vincent..."

The called one slowly stopped in his tracks with his back turned to the other, still refusing to turn and make eye contact. His black and moonlight blue ponytail fluttered ever so slightly in a cool draft...or was that just his lost soul passing by?

Rayman finished, "Smile a little more...you've got a nice smile."

"...There is nothing to smile about."

The tone of those words was dejected, defeated. Lowering his head, Vincent exited the room quickly before the other could question him further.

**XXXX**

Rayman entered the second floor of the same room he had been drugged in, clockwork cogs loudly grinding as usual as he spotted the first fireplace. It was that same fireplace that had seemed to beckon him with calling demons from before. Oh, how the horrid memories made him want to squirm as he walked. A sigh miserably escaped him; he was not looking forward to the chore ahead.

Only then, as he stood before the lit fireplace with a raised eyebrow, did he realise after the long journey that he did not have a chimney brush. He groaned and palm smacked his forehead in frustration. The clap sound of the contact echoed throughout the huge room and caught someone's attention.

_Like I'm going to be a slave and do someone's dirty work, what's stopping me from just walking out the front door right now,_ Rayman thought to himself from his cracked pride as his next thought contradicted the last. _But if it were that easy...then why hasn't Vincent escaped yet?_

"Escape is futile." Rayman would never admit that he jumped as a single red sofa near the burning fireplace held Razoff sitting comfortably. "Ask your partner for details."

Rayman would never admit he was slightly unnerved at how well the Hunter could read him, could read his expressions, his movements, his emotions with just a simple glance of those stern and sharp eyes.

Razoff's hat rested on the arm of the chair as he calmly sat there and sipped his tea from his cup, now completely ignoring Rayman who was standing behind his sofa wondering what exactly he was supposed to do. _First is the fire,_ Rayman mentally acknowledged and scowled at the burning embers. Unfortunately, Razoff noticed.

"You need to put it out first," Razoff smirked gleefully. In the corner of his eye, he spotted Rayman roll his own eyes in an action that clearly stated, `no duh genius! ` The Hunter made no move to do anything and just sunk more contentedly into his seat. He was doing this on purpose and Rayman knew it. "Only go to the kitchen to get water."

Pretending the arrogant Hunter was not present, he resulted to the map that Vincent had presented him, eyes widening to an unspeakable size. Of course, it had to be so, Rayman rolled his eyes to the ceiling in annoyance: the kitchen was on the far side of the mansion. He silently felt a vein pop on his forehead; fortunately his face was hidden from Razoff's view behind the parchment. He remained collectively cool by taking slow and deep breaths to steady himself. This was obviously testing him, no big deal. He could prove he had control over his temper...for now.

Turning back to where he had entered, he briskly walked back out. Strange how it felt like he had only just come this way seconds before.

Wondering through many narrow corridors, he could not help but notice that there was a lot of red in this household, making him audibly tut at such a lack of variety. As he began to gradually descend the curving staircase of the Main Foyer, this fact became even more apparent. Red. Red walls, red carpets, red cat...

"Red cat?" Rayman burst out.

Whipping around to where he had caught a glimpse of something a table, his eyes widened as he stood in complete shock on the stairs. Yes, it could not be denied, there was a ginger cat curled up on a side table at the far side of the Foyer—alive. It had one yellow eye cracked open, feline pupil eyeing him in just as much curiosity. It lifted its head up and flicked its large pointy ear as it stared back at the new character to its home. A fluffy ginger tail dangerously swayed back and forth over the edge of the table. It gave a sudden 'meow' to him and licked its lips with a small tongue as if to taste the air like a serpent. Rayman would not admit that the action of this animal unnerved him. It looked like it wanted to have a tasty bite out of him.

Swallowing, he stiffly looked forward, those slits currently burning holes into his side. Was it truly possible for something one fifth his size to be so intimidating? He hurriedly pushed the sensation to the back of his mind.

He forced his attention away from the domesticated animal, which was not difficult as a chemical smell was suddenly choking him. It was the undeniably potent smell of polish. It nearly made him gag as he noticed the entire foyer was spotless, causing him to blink at realising Vincent had already been here at work. He tried to ignore the overwhelming scent, but found it still made bile claw up his throat. But what was better? The normal, musky scent that was this ancient mansion? Or the horrid smell of polish? To be honest, Rayman would take the polish, if it meant saving him from the onslaught of horrid memories.

Letting his hand smoothly slide over the handrail, he finally reached the bottom of the staircase and heard the undersides of his shoes clink on the ruby and topaz tiles to signal his descent. All the while, he tried to ignore those feline eyes continuing to curiously stare at him.

It was extremely quiet, all except for the light bulbs of the giant chandelier buzzing away above his head as they flickered with age. But this was nowhere near an irritating sound, at least to him. No, he heftily exhaled through his nose at discovering it to be more of a comfort rather than an annoyance.

Unable to avoid passing the cellar door next to the stairs, he felt his fists and teeth instinctively clench in unison. Rage began to build inside his heart from just seeing that gloomy door alone. His eyes were as sharp as daggers.

That gloomy door...

That gloomy prison.

_His_ prison.

Why was it so hard? Why was it so _hard_ to process what had happened? With a growl, he practically yanked the map open again to follow its directions, finding his heart pounding in rage. He followed those simple directions subconsciously, allowing them to lead him down an unfamiliar twisting hall filled with many paintings. A wonder filled glimmer abruptly entered his eyes as he viewed them. However, it was not the painted Razoff's that were his interest, it was something else entirely. He slowed down at discovering that some had that ginger cat somewhere within them.

There it sat in one, in the foreground behind Razoff, sitting poised and proud like a regal lion. There it was again, curled upon the Hunter's lap, golden eyes open and eyeing the viewer of the painting with a majestic air. You would swear that the cat was looking directly at you in an uncontrollable interest. Rayman frowned as he found this cat a slight mystery.

It did not take him long to find himself face to face with a pair of double oak doors. Rayman glanced at the map, then back to the door, before shrugging indifferently. Its appearance certainly looked different to the others, so it must be correct. He sighed; this mansion could turn your head upside down.

He raised an eyebrow before cautiously knocking. He flinched as every knock harshly echoed down the corridors; everything just seemed way too loud in this overly large mansion. _A single person shouldn't have this much space to themselves,_ Rayman decided, just before the door was pulled open to reveal none other than Vincent. The black and moonlight blue version of himself just nodded without a smile as Rayman rolled the map into a scroll and entered on his own accord.

The kitchen's golden tiled floor reflecting red lights about the ceiling instantly caught his attention first. So, not everything in the mansion was red after all. It was a decent sized kitchen for a mansion, with what appeared to be twenty cupboards bolted to yellow walls. Three sinks lay side by side in the kitchen side, one currently filled with sudsy water releasing steam that condensed on the pans hanging from hooks above. Bubbles frothed and popped in the water as Vincent went over and put another plate in to wash. He was indifferent, silent, and uneasy.

"Do ya know where the buckets are?" Rayman sighed out, looking to Vincent hopefully. His companion just shyly pointed to a cupboard built into the wall which Rayman swiftly opened. Reluctantly, desiring to be anywhere but here in this situation, he pressed on, "What about a chimney brush?"

Vincent stopped washing the plate and nervously bit his lip as he stared into the slightly dirty dish water. He seemed reluctant to speak to him, to reply, and Rayman felt himself sweat. That could not be a good sign.

"Apologies, Master Razoff has them under lock and key, I am afraid you will have to ask him for it. But even then...he may not give it to you," Vincent anxiously answered.

As Vincent continued to scrub the plate, he watched Rayman in the corner of his eye, who was filling the tin bucket in the sink next to his own. He unexplainably let a tremble escape from practically feeling the irritation rolling off the other in waves.

"What's that supposed to mean? As much as it disgusts me to do this task, I can't clean them without it. So, if he wants it done he's going to have to give it over."

Rayman growled low in his throat from anger at the Hunter, and Vincent flinched timidly beside him even though the disdainful growl was not aimed at him. He had not even been in his presence for long and already Rayman visualized throttling that blasted Hunter. Turning off the tap with a metallic squeak, he forced the thought to surrender...for now.

"But he will expect you—" Vincent muttered and swiftly turned back to the kitchen to find the other was already gone. He stared sadly into his reflection on the sparkly clean plate. "He will expect you...to find other ways."


	5. Razoff's Slave: A Horrid First Day Part2

Razoff's slave: A horrid first day Part 2

Walking straight passed Razoff sitting in his seat, he thrust the cold water onto the fire and watched with satisfaction as it immediately sizzled out, and with a cocky smirk turned to Razoff with his hand out expectantly. Razoff just stared over the rim of his cup with playful interest.

"What, prey tell, are you asking for? I can't read minds you stupid boy," Razoff taunted, attempting to hook Rayman on his line like a fish to bait.

Rayman felt himself seethe in frustration.

"Isn't it obvious? I need to clean the chimneys; I need a brush for them? You apparently have them locked up for reasons I don't want to know," Rayman matched the taunt with one of his own, and being on the receiving end Razoff expertly kept his cool.

"No."

The simple answer resounded dauntingly throughout the room as if it was spoken by Death himself. Razoff sipped his sweet tea again to savour the feel of victory as the other blinked at him.

Rayman stared. "What?"

"You're not deaf, I said no."

"No!"

"No."

"Then how do you expect me to do this then?!"

Rayman was beginning to crack; he could feel it inside him like a fragile pot threatening to smash under pressure. Luckily, the pressure was not high enough quite yet. The main problem was that even though he knew Razoff was trying to make him crack—and he knew with every fibre of his being that he should not—he was, ever so slowly, cracking.

"Use your head, boy," Razoff informed him with an cunning grin. Rayman just stood there dumb-folded before him, silently pondering why the hell the Hunter had not punished him yet for arguing so much. "And I mean it quite literally."

It took a couple of confused seconds for the penny to drop.

The slave felt all of the colour drain from his face in a heart dropping instant. Razoff smirked and chuckled over the rim of his cup at seeing the point hit home. Rayman had taken his bait and was being reeled in.

"No way!" Rayman finally cracked, the pot inside his mind smashing into a million pieces, just like his restraint. "That's insane!"

"Why not? I have seen the way you use your hair as a helicopter, it's perfect," Razoff finally put down his now empty teacup onto its plate and crossed his arms. "The faster you do the jobs, the faster you get to eat."

It was then the other realised how he had not eaten for over four days, consisting of the three he was drugged and also the extra day of sleep afterwards. His stomach decided to take that precise moment to remind him of its emptiness and rumbled unceremoniously, making him snarl in distaste and Razoff laugh at the timing.

"I have work I need to do; I'll be in my Study if you would care to amuse me more," Razoff chuckled as he grabbed his red hat and placed it firmly on his head.

Rayman watched his retreating back, before slowly switching his gaze to the blackened fireplace with contemplating eyes. Did he really have a choice? Regardless of his burning pride: he was starving, obviously trapped, still somewhat weak from the drug, and would undoubtedly get shot if he refused as he was nowhere near powerful enough for a fight right now. The odds were against him...and he reluctantly admitted it with a sneer. But this did not mean he accepted it, hell no, not in a million years.

Rayman sarcastically droned, "How humiliating, from the worlds best hero to the worlds first living chimney brush. Oh, if only Ly could see me now."

His irises visibly sparked at his own spoken words, he was going to escape—even if it was the last thing he ever did. There was a horrible thought burrowing a gaping hole deep inside his heart. _Would Ly leer at me in disgust for remaining trapped here, not even attempting to escape to find her? Or would she be satisfied if I died trying, just to prove I had not given up on her?_

He was jittery with discomfort, both from the building weight inside his heart and from what he was about to do, as he approached the fireplace and ducked his head inside. He started his helicopter and instantly shut his eyes when soot churned up. Suddenly, Vincent's words came back to haunt his mind.

**"Do not underestimate any task; Razoff will make it difficult for you. I guarantee it."**

XXXX

One of the kitchen doors slammed against the wall with a tremendous bang, making Vincent jump as Rayman stood in the doorway looking very disgruntled. To say Vincent was bewildered was an understatement as a completely black Rayman trudged into the kitchen, unrecognisable to the point that you could accidently mistake him for Vincent himself.

"One down, fourteen more to go," Rayman choked out, before coughing up deadly puffs of soot.

Vincent was at his side in an instant, gently leading him to a wooden chair near the massive kicthen table. He carefully led the other to sit down upon it as he took note of the horror that was him in his entirety.

"What in heavens name did he make you clean the chimney with, your hair?" Vincent asked in disbelief, running a hand through the coal black strands. Large clumps had built up in it and he could feel them in his fingers. An emotionless frown crossed his features, it was going to be a nightmare to get those clumps out.

If only Vincent understood how spot on the mark his guess was.

_All this from one chimney,_ Vincent thought as the other coughed up more soot. _This is much crueller than what he did to me—_

"Exactly," Rayman interrupted the other's thoughts. Vincent blinked in confusion.

"Pardon?"

The black Rayman coughed, a struggled grin catching his lips, "Exactly, he did make me use my hair."

Frowning, Vincent walked in front of Rayman and took a couple of steps back to examine the other's condition better. His eyes, despite his expressionless face, revealed only genuine sympathy.

After that meeting, Vincent's pity only grew and grew in the confines of his conscious. It seemed that Razoff had lit every fireplace in the mansion, so Rayman was coming back to the kitchen to refill the only bucket available over and over again. Each time he looked worse and Vincent even decided that halfway through he would clean out the majority of the soot and clumps from Rayman's hair, despite alternately cooking Razoff's dinner at the same time. _I really do sympathize, Rayman,_ Vincent's thoughts were purely sincere yet hidden as he once again cleaned his companions' hair with a wet, soapy, kitchen cloth.

But, despite the cleaning efforts, it hardly made any difference to Rayman's appearance, nor his mood.

**XXXX**

By the time the task was done, he felt like he would never properly breathe again. Eleven at night struck true on the grandfather clock and the small room he currently staggered within was so dark that even the ceiling lights were barely enough to illuminate his form. They cast a terribly dull red glow over him—useless. He felt his legs give way harshly beneath him, collapsing onto the crimson rug, painfully coughing and spluttering large amounts of soot. Every cough that wracked him hurt so much. His throat felt sore, too sore, soot tearing at his throat like tiny claws. But he had to keep coughing...or it would seal his lungs. Coughing out his airways made his eyes water in agony, his mind screaming as the water in his eyes overflowed.

"I-I won't—OW! Give him the sat-satisfaction," He forced out, but it only came out as a croak interrupted by coughs. One already damaged pride yelled to be appeased in his suffering mind.

Razoff just finished some paperwork and was surprised at how unexpectedly late it had become. Locking the door to his Study, he put the key back into his pocket before starting towards his bedroom just down the hall. However, he froze dead in his tracks.

He frowned, distinctively hearing faint spluttering coming from another room down the corridor. Allowing his curiosity to get the better of him, he slowly made his way towards the sounds, feet quietly thudding on the ancient floorboards as he crept. Some boards creaked unexpectedly and he made a mental note to remind Vincent to sort them out. For now, he filed away that mental note, approaching the closest door. Those sounds were louder and louder, closer and closer.

In peering around a doorframe, Razoff instantly spotted a black figure on the floor coughing away. His eyes widened at realising exactly who it was. It was his newest slave struggling to breathe, soot trickling horrifically from his entire form—the soot crying out to him like dying angels—'This was your fault! _Your_ fault!' The red lights of the room were not enough to distinguish major details, but the lad obviously needed help.

The Hunter stood motionless for a few moments, frowning as he considered his options. He was about to enter the room to make himself known when Vincent suddenly appeared from the opposite entrance and leaned over Rayman in concern instead. He wrapped a damp towel over his new acquaintance's shoulders with one hand and held a glass of water in the other.

Vincent kindly whispered, "You need to wash some down, it will ease your pain."

Rayman took the glass and immediately gulped as much as he could handle.

Razoff snorted quietly at the scene before taking that moment to make himself known.

Vincent bit his lip in alarm, he had been ordered to go to bed and wait for his partner, but he had disobeyed. As Razoff came closer, Vincent screwed his eyes shut to brace himself for a hit he knew would come, one that had come many times before. However, he hesitantly cracked an eye open...nothing came. Uncertain, he blinked as Razoff kneeled down to examine Rayman.

Rayman had finished the water rapidly, yet was still coughing uncontrollably. _I can't determine whether there is permanent damage_, Razoff thought as he forced the slave's chin up to face him.

Then, all of a sudden, completely out of the blue, Rayman locked dazed eyes with Razoff and forced a cocky smirk onto his face. Vincent felt bewildered, how could he possibly smirk in such a horrible condition?

"D-Done it—ah! You...you complete git."

Razoff glared at the suffering being on his rug. He just managed to withhold the urge to smack that smirk off his face, just barely. The firm fist that clenched at his side ready to strike gradually relaxed in expert restraint.

"Vincent, clean him up in the bath and take him to bed. Make sure he doesn't sleep until he is breathing at least decently. I can tell he won't be breathing properly for a _long_ time."

_Yeah, whose fault is that!_ Rayman inwardly screamed at him.

Razoff then suddenly stood, sighing tiredly as he began to leave the room. Vincent nodding hastily at the given request helped Rayman to his feet. Just before Razoff and Rayman exited through their separate doorways, their eyes momentarily caught a glance.

The black of Rayman's eyes glinted dangerous onyx—Razoff would never admit he felt intimidated.


	6. Disobedience

Disobedience

Vincent tightened his pony tail so that it would not come undone and drape into the steaming water. With a dripping yet soapy black cloth, although it was indecipherable whether this was due to originally being that way or the soot, he gently rubbed it against the other's skin.

At feeling that cloth rub like relentless sandpaper, the receiver cringed and screwed his eyes tightly shut in discomfort as it felt as if the rough soot was scratching deep into the tiny recesses of his skin. Like needles, that was the only comparison Rayman could create, like rough, sore, needle-pricks, each rub of the cloth ten more, and each making him grimace.

Rayman had protested heavily against being bathed by another despite his terrible condition, Vincent merely blinking at the flustered red tinge that had tainted the cream of Rayman's face. It had been strange how subconscious the normally cocky one had become and how he had continued to refuse Vincent's help. Rayman was entirely independent and the mere thought of another helping him in such a situation was, in lack of better words, exceedingly uncomfortable. He had been unhelpfully stubborn to no end, but Vincent had obviously managed to get him to cooperate anyway with logical reasoning. Logic, such a theme that helps in any scenario and succeeds without fault. It obviously did wonders.

Rayman currently sat in the hot bath of which Razoff had strangely given permission for Vincent to use; Vincent narrowed his eyes at this as he scrubbed a little harder to get a clump of soot out. Rayman hissed in pain whilst unintentionally leaning away from the other, the harsher scrubs feeling more like a curse rather than a blessing. But this went unnoticed by Vincent who appeared to be locked away deep within in his thoughts. Razoff never allowed them to use the baths more than once every two weeks, even if they were completely filthy he never permitted it. This was a fact that Vincent had learnt and experienced the hard way. Vincent had a dazed look in his eyes as he thought, _he must have actually felt something in order for him to allow this, maybe he understood himself that he pushed Rayman a bit too far._

"I *cough* h-hate that *cough* git!" Rayman croaked out whilst covering his mouth with a gloved hand in another coughing fit.

Vincent gave him a pitied look and rubbed his discoloured purple back soothingly. Yes, Rayman had accepted Vincent's offered help, but in turn he wanted to keep his clothes on. Vincent had found this utterly ludicrous, but had obliged anyway.

"You know, he never allows baths often. That means he must have felt sorry for you, this bath is a luxury so enjoy it while it lasts," Vincent informed quietly in his low voice.

Vincent did not smile once, even as he began to see Rayman's real coloured skin finally begin to show through on the back of the other's head. His face was the usual emotionless mask.

"So, y-you expect me to *cough* like him for this?"

Rayman turned his head with half lidded eyes to stare at the other, tired. Vincent remained silent for a moment.

Vincent once again focused his gaze on the bubbly suds in the water lapping against the sides of the tub instead of meeting the other's eyes. Despite attempting to ignore it, Rayman found he felt a little pity regardless. Was meeting the windows to the soul truly such a precarious sentiment?

"...Not at all," Vincent finally answered.

The other had just started on Rayman's long locks. Rayman just smiled, Vincent's general voice was so comforting to hear. Even though at times he acted emotionless, Rayman did not think for one minute that Vincent was completely so. Maybe not even Vincent himself knew just how innocent and kind he was inside that bottle he cooped himself up in. As Guardian, Rayman could see it in his heart.

In all honesty...Rayman was torn between sympathy and comfort by this. A bottle that is closed for too long becomes harder to open; the lid either becoming rusted, tainted, or tightened by time. And he believed that if it was left for too long, then it was too late to open that full bottle of emotions you hid. The lid would be stuck, your emotions trapped. And you know what happens when something fragile is trapped yet the remaining space continues to fill? It explodes. That bottle of emotions you keep shut away in the cage of your chest will shatter...and you will break. For all he knew, as he stared sadly at the ceiling, this was the path Vincent was already fated.

Out of the blue, Vincent asked timidly, "How...how do you do it?"

"Hmm?" Rayman hummed.

"How do you do it? I mean for heavens sake look at you. How do you stand up to him and throw anything he gives you right back?"

Vincent actually paused in his scrubbing of Rayman's hair to listen intently. The asked one closed his eyes for a few seconds to think, leaving the bathroom in absolute silence.

"Well, I know that if I gave in *cough* my p-pride would be shattered. I find my pride to be *cough* a large part of me and I r-refuse for it to be broken easily, I fight for my pride. I don't like the fact of him being s-satisfied...makes me sick *cough.*"

And Vincent closed his eyes with a small hollow smile, taking in Rayman's answer.

"So, you are a rebellious type in general then?" Vincent continued his scrubbing as if it was merely an unconscious thing; the soap now lathered up all over Rayman's hair and ready to be washed out.

"I thought ya would've picked that up al-already."

Rayman cheekily grinned over his shoulder to his companion. Vincent blinked innocently back, before grabbing a bucket of hot water and easing it over the other's head.

Automatically closing his eyes, Rayman felt the water soothingly wash over his hair and drag the soft bubbles down his body. It eased that irritable soreness all over his skin like caressing hands and he released a relaxed sigh.

Vincent was rubbing the sooty hair with his gloveless fingers to get any remaining soot clumps out. Finally, when hair was once again its original golden colour, he nodded to himself before starting on the other's still discoloured clothes. He began with the red hood tainted with black.

Rayman gazed up at the circular window in the ceiling to see the two crescent moons once again shining in the black sky, it seemed that the moonlight was never strong enough here in the swamp. Just as well, hope itself seemed a faded prospect here.

Pure silence once again enveloped the two; however it was not awkward. It was one which acknowledged each others presence and just made them enjoy each others company—it was a comfortable silence. Occasionally however, Rayman's coughs would unintentionally cut through it.

Abused and exhausted, Rayman yawned. It must be around midnight by this point and black bags were developing under his eyes from his exhaustion. His stomach rumbled on its own accord, begging him to eat something, which he had not done for five days. Gently holding his stomach, he groaned in restrained discomfort. unfortunately, this did not go unnoticed by Vincent who had now finished the clothes on Rayman's body, which looked as good as new.

Pretending not to notice his companion's slightly solemn attitude, Vincent once again kept on his expressionless mask and tapped his Rayman's back to signal that he was done.

**XXXX**

A cool breeze swept over the mansion that night, icy cold as it rolled over the roofs with a wolfish howl. It nibbled at the roof tiles, rattling them, sending whistling howls vibrating through the gaps as if a piper was playing a luring flute. The blackened trees of the outside swamp were no match as the wind snarled and ripped at their dead branches. All was deadly silent as a smoky ocean of clouds obscured the Twin Moons, taking the only natural light away from the Bog of Murk.

Deep within the confines of the cellar, Rayman lay completely still. Two eyes, wide awake, watched the chains above swaying in the draft that had gotten strangely stronger tonight. His shining eyes narrowed as he listened to the whistle of the wind seeping through the walls. It seemed to beckon to him, to beckon him back to the outside world. A grip on his heart told him to obey its call.

Turning his head, he gazed at Vincent fast asleep on the other bed, his back turned to him as if afraid to show his face.

Ever so carefully, Rayman got up, the rustling of the sheets a gentle sound in this horrid place. He froze when Vincent gave a small, almost cute, groan from his bed. The other shifted slightly in his bed and turned over so that he was lying on his back. Rayman smiled a warm smile at realising the other was a heavy sleeper.

He quietly crept over to him, making sure the clinks of his shoes were not too loud to awake the sleeping figure and forcibly restraining coughs in the process. When he was close enough, he stood before the bed and just watched the other's face with observing eyes.

Vincent looked innocent as always as he slept, chest rising and falling evenly while he peacefully breathed. Rayman tilted his head to the side as he looked at the exhausted bands underlining the other's eyes, at the way his eyelids would twitch slightly, at the lingering frown, as if even in sleep he was tormented. Rayman let out a long breath through his nose and half-closed his eyes at realizing that even during sleep this kind person suffered some sort of scar.

Rayman suddenly sighed and ran his fingers through his golden hair, he could not stay here. After the demeaning horrors of today he knew he had to get out now more than ever, Polokus knows what he would have to do in the future tasks that awaited him. He was not some kind of wild animal that could be retained, and yet...

The Guardian frowned, eyes softening. And yet Vincent was? He could not just leave him here. Perhaps it was some sort of hero complex, but it felt selfish to think of escape when he looked at Vincent. He found it peculiar as he put his hand to his chin with a contemplating expression: he barely knew this male sleeping before him, but it felt as if his aura alone was so innocent that anyone would perish the thought of leaving him behind. It would just feel so heartless and so cruel.

"Psst!"

His heart skipped a beat. Fully alert he spun around, fist clenched at the ready. A fighter's fire burned in his eyes as they turned sharp arctic grey in a second. Rayman glowered at the impenetrable darkness that consumed most of this maze-like cellar. There came a sudden sound of scurrying feet.

"Who's there?" Rayman ordered, glancing to Vincent in the corner of his eye to make sure he had not woken up. "Show yourself."

Nothing answered and he glared in response. His fist tightened to the point you could hear the material stretch. Instead of a reply, something happened that made his strong stance falter.

A small clang was heard and the unmistakable sound of something scraping the stone floor started towards him. He glared as the sound got louder and louder, closer and closer. Before he could say anything, a key, black as coal, smaller than his hand, suddenly appeared from the darkness. It clinked as it spun across the stone directly towards him. He watched suspiciously as the key slowed with one final clink before his feet and remained still.

Rayman whipped his head back up to the shadows and his hair twitched in wonder. Nothing stirred within the thick darkness, the only movement being the swinging chains above.

He unsurely let his fist drop. "Hello?"

Once again no answer came...as if whoever it was had just disappeared without a trace. Was he imagining things? Was this a side effect of that drug?

He slowly trailed his gaze back down to the key with a raised eyebrow, bending down to tentatively pick up the object. It was solid to his touch as he brushed off the dust that had gathered on its surface from the floor. It was as real as what had transpired.

With one final glance at the key in his palm, he turned to Vincent. The other was still fast asleep, but seemed to be stirring slightly. Rayman silently cursed as he could not hold in his coughs anymore and coughed into his hand quietly in fear it would wake the other.

Hurrying passed the beds to the cellar door; he carefully placed the key in the lock. Turning it made a satisfying jolt. The mechanism within gave way. He winced and gritted his teeth, swiftly looking to Vincent to see if the loud noise had woken him. But Vincent's eyes only flickered open for the briefest of second before they sleepily shut on themselves once again.

_I'll be back,_ Rayman mentally told the other, before cracking the door open slightly and silently slipping out.

He blinked as he instantly spotted the metal hook just outside the door—the hook that was supposed to hold his current key. Furrowing his eyebrows he realised, somehow, whoever that was that had given him the key had managed to sneak it inside _after_it had been locked...it made no sense.

It was so late it was possibly very early morning, meaning that no one would be awake as Rayman sneaked up the small spiral staircase that lead from the cellar to the foyer. Obviously Razoff did not expect either of them to escape the cellar since he had most definitely locked them in. This was Rayman's chance.

Not a single light was on in the mansion, meaning the only light available was the rare moment when the two crescent moons would manage to break through the clouds, bathing the shiny tiled floor in pearly moonlight. In the darkness his large eyes naturally glowed as the rest of his body practically merged with the shadows. It was barely light enough to see as the Runaway cautiously slunk through the darkness towards the huge front doors.

Like a spy he snuck up to the front doors, not knowing what other traps and mechanisms may arm this place in wait. Taking a deep breath, it caught and he violently coughed, that blasted soot!

He recovered quickly before grasping a giant metal loop of the door and pulling. He gritted his teeth and grunted as the door did not budge no matter how much strength he applied.

"Tough guy, huh?" He challenged, voice breathy as he let go of the handle. "Looks like I need to open you by force."

Without even thinking he charged his fist to maximum and punched the door as hard as he could. The pure force behind it was enough to break bones when it connected with the wood—tough and fast. A tremor carried through his fist as the door only shook in response. The tense silence after the loud thud was deafening.

Rayman trembled as he hoarsely hissed, "...Ouch."

His hand slowly returned to him, completely motionless from the pain. With an expression screaming in discomfort he rubbed the feeling back into his agonised hand. Eyeing the door hatefully with narrowed eyes, he understood that the inside of the doors must be lined with some sort of intense metal. With a snort he acknowledged that this would get him nowhere.

**XXXX**

He spent the next half an hour running through dark mansion corridors trying to see if there was another liable exit. But, as he had expected, the only way, both in and out, were the front doors. He had even attempted to punch a hole through the wall to the outside world, but the same result as the front doors occurred with much vigour. Honestly, you truly believed that would have been more susceptible? As time passed he was getting more and more bruises and less and less ideas of how to escape this prison.

Charging up the foyer stairs, feet making silent thuds on the red carpet shrouded in shadows, he decided he only had one last resort—the windows. All the windows were on the higher floors. With a grin in place he sprinted down dark corridors and skidded around the corner into Razoff's library, which was next to the room he had previously collapsed in. A stain-glass window lay before him on the opposite wall of the room, letting in the spiritual moonlight in all its glory. He smirked; all he had to do was smash it to pieces and use his helicopter to float down to freedom. He would then figure out a way to get Vincent out.

A small part of his mind niggled at him at perhaps being slightly too selfish in this respect, maybe he should have dragged Vincent along with him just in case? For all he knew, if he did escape, the likelihood being minuscule, he would not be able to retrieve the other.

Confidence flashed through his eyes, a kindling burst of determined flames. He took a sturdy stance and threw back his fist. It was flung towards the glass. It flew at incredible speeds. Getting close—

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Rayman's eyes widened. His fist froze, mere centimetres from colourful glass. In his ears he heard his heart beginning to pound. He could feel it, could feel a presence behind him, could feel stern eyes watching him intently. The room suddenly felt icy cold as tension hooked its talons.

Withdrawing his fist, he ever so slowly turned his head. Immediately, he noticed how the fire was burning bright in the hearth with its glow illuminating the many bookshelves. Despite the dancing embers, the room was inexplicably chilling to the core when Rayman fully turned to meet his captor. How had he not noticed? Had he been so blind by escape that he had become careless? Both in the respect of himself and his companion within the cellar.

Razoff was watching him intensely from his seat next to the fire, the red sofa having been turned to Rayman so they could talk face to face. There were two single sofas, one of which he sat upon. His hat was settled on the arm of the chair as he sat, one leg over the over, leant forward with his fingers together in silent contemplation. His black eyes that reflected the flames beside him were locked onto the other's, never leaving. Rayman had to withhold a shiver as those eyes felt as if they were dauntingly peering into his soul. Apart from that, Razoff was calm as he watched his captive with a hint of amusement.

However, Rayman was not looking at the Hunter. Uneasy eyes were locked on the second sofa that currently housed a sitting ginger cat delicately cleaning the pads of a paw. He furrowed his eyebrows, only now spotting the pearly collar embedded with an exceptionally big topaz reflecting the firelight, making the precious stone shine amber. To him the beautiful jewel appeared almost alive, as if touching it would cause him to feel a warm heartbeat.

Even though the cat was focused on its cleaning task...it still felt as if it was watching him like a predator in the corner of its eye. Rayman shivered.

"Pray tell, how did you escape the cellar?" Razoff questioned and sat back, calmly grabbing his crystal tumbler of cherry coloured brandy and taking a sip. His voice snapped Rayman's gaze to him. "Hopefully you're little _night escapade_ has enlightened you to the fact that you can't escape."

Rayman stared at the alcohol as the Hunter placed it on the table...Razoff had been here all night.

"Wouldn't ya want to know," Rayman stated, grinning cockily. The problem was he did not know how to answer that question since he did not know entirely himself how he had escaped. His eyes glazed over for a second in silent thought. _Wouldn't_I _want to know..._

Razoff unfortunately noticed the unfocused expression and raised an eyebrow. The peculiar thing was this had had happened previously with Vincent when he had first captured him. One night he just got out of the cellar although being locked in, as if _someone_had let him out. It was a mystery he had not yet solved and it seemed it had occurred again tonight.

"Anyway, as I stated, I wouldn't do that if I were you," Razoff smirked over the rim of his glass as he tilted his head towards the untouched window. His smirk widened when Rayman merely scowled at him in distain. "By all means, try if you desire. Amuse me."

Rayman instantly felt unnerved. The thought crossed his mind that if Razoff was this calm then he knew something about the windows that he did not. The Hunter was up to something. He felt more than saw the cat halt in its progress of pruning to watch the transpiring scene.

"What're ya hiding?"

"Punch the window and find out."

"For all I know it's dangerous."

"And being in my presence isn't?"

Rayman narrowed his eyes into a glare. "You're not intimidating in any way, _Hunter._"

Razoff calmly met the glare. "Indeed? Neither are you, _slave._"

That final word was the spark to the fuse as Rayman abruptly spun towards the window and—

**XXXX**

—Found his pride chaffed somewhat as he found himself once again being carried in Razoff's arms down towards the cellar. He was completely paralysed. His golden hair was tinged black at the tips, occasionally releasing a spark or two between the strands. It seemed the windows had some sort of electrical barrier that Razoff could activate at will.

"Stop scowling at the ceiling, boy. I was going to punish you for talking to me in such a manner, but I knew this would be punishment enough. Haven't you had enough problems for one day? As I said, you're stubbornness will be your downfall."

Rayman coughed a single puff of black smoke, "G-Git."

**XXXX**

On opening large eyes in the early dawn, Rayman groaned and rubbed them tiredly, after last night he had had trouble sleeping and had gotten barely two hours of rest. On sitting up in his bed, he realised that he now had to replace all of the light bulbs because he did not have time yesterday. Groaning again, he put his head in his hands and tried to snap his brain out of its drossy state.

Vincent suddenly came in through the cellar door, and at spotting him asked gently, "Bad night?"

"Yeah," Rayman mumbled. _You have_no_idea..._

The cream one fell back onto his pillow with his eyes closed, putting a hand up when stray coughs escaped him. When he felt a hand hesitantly tap his chest, he cracked an eye open to see Vincent looking at his hood tassels rather than looking directly into his eyes.

"Master Razoff wants you up and working immediately, I am sorry."

Vincent had said it so unhappily, as if it was his fault. Rayman smiled kindly at him and stiffly sat back up.

"Hey, it's not your fault. I don't want ya blaming yourself for that jerks nasty nature," He grinned, and Vincent felt his mouth twitch into a small, yet empty smile.

Rayman noticed that he did give tiny smiles occasionally, but there was no true feeling behind them every time. If it was not a hollow smile it was no expression at all, and he was beginning to wonder if it was Razoff that had done this to the poor guy. _I hate that jerk!_He mentally seethed whilst in reality he physically frowned.

Vincent blinked naively at the sudden frown that had appeared on his partners face. But when Rayman snapped back to reality he just smiled a beaming smile back at Vincent.

At that moment footsteps could be heard descending the cellar steps and Rayman growled when Razoff suddenly appeared in the doorway, looking as straight and stuck up as ever.

At seeing the reaction of his new slave due to his presence, Razoff could tell that he was nowhere near breaking the boy, in fact he had a strong feeling that he never would. However, that did not mean he was not going to have a good stab at it. However, he was not going to go as far as yesterday...if he could it of course. His goal was to tame the lad—not kill him.

Razoff's eyes drifted to Vincent staring at the floor nervously, _Vincent's spirit was easy to break because of his overall gentle personality, but looking at this other I realise it will be immensely tougher to break his spirit because of his cocky and carefree nature. That and he's a stubborn mule_, Razoff concluded his thoughts with a raised eyebrow as Rayman snorted, then closed his eyes, and then looked away in an action that clearly shouted 'defiance' at its finest.

"Hop to it boy, you know your job," Razoff taunted with his hands behind his back, watching as Rayman opened one eye to glower back at him.

"No, not until I've eaten. I haven't eaten for days."

The new slave was now fully facing the Hunter with blazing eyes glaring. Vincent began to sweat nervously at such disobedience; he was going to get hit for sure.

"I told you yesterday, stupid boy, that the faster you get the jobs done the faster you can eat. Notice the 's' in 'jobs,' you only did one yesterday," The Hunter argued, beginning to eerily approach Rayman who remained sitting up in bed glaring daggers. Razoff then leaned forward slowly so that their faces were as close as possible before saying warningly, "Understand, boy?"

Challengingly staring into the Hunters' eyes like a riled lion, Rayman snorted, bored, "Whatever."

A bead of sweat dripped down Vincent's forehead. His eyes widened and he audibly gasped. His heart was racing as Razoff struck Rayman. It was a hard punch across the face, one that terribly echoed throughout the cellar. It pierced the tense silence, made it tenser. Everything became deadly still. The very air itself seemed to choke.

Rayman had his eyes shut with his head turned to the side from the force of the strike. Without even batting an eyelid he turned straight back to the Hunter with an even fiercer glare. Razoff was taken aback by the pure challenge swirling in those orbs. The captor smiled, this one was truly going to test him and it would be one of his highest trophies if he did tame him.

"I'm not sure if you've been told, but you call me 'Master Razoff,'" Razoff patiently informed as he stood straight back up and watched as a scarlet tinge started to appear on the victim's cheek. "So I will ask you again. Do you understand, boy?"

Growling, Rayman felt his soul burst into a fiery rage; he would never call Razoff 'Master'—never. He glanced at Vincent to his left and felt his fire dampen a little. Vincent was staring at him pleadingly, pleading him to just say that venomous word because he did not want to see him get hurt further. Seeing that look reminded him of what his companion had said before.

"**You could help me. So if not for him...then do it for me."**

_**You could help me.**_

_Only for Vincent_, He thought dejectedly as he moved his eyes to look once again dead-on into Razoff's expecting gaze.

"Yes...Master Razoff," Was the hiss through gritted teeth, the words like poison in his mouth. As soon as he had said them he felt himself grimace in disgust and another chip cracked off his pride.

"Oh, I didn't quite hear you. I am afraid you will have to speak up."

Razoff smirked evilly at seeing Rayman's eyes spark with fury. It was as if a volatile spark had lit a bomb fuse—a deadly one.

"I said yes Master Razoff, YOU COMPLETE UTTER ARSE!"

Not expecting the sudden outburst Vincent jumped. His heart was pounding. He instantly looked away. Another sound of flesh against flesh filled the room. Rayman had been hit again in the exact same spot.


	7. Chandelier Chaos

Razoff's Slave Second Day: Chandelier Chaos

Rayman walked beside Vincent as both ascended the carpeted steps of the Foyer's curved staircase the next day, Vincent warily looking at the now very prominent bruise plastering the other's left cheek. They had been asked by the Hunter to do the Foyers large chandelier bulbs first, and for that height a ladder was highly necessary to proceed.

Yet, deep down within the confines of Rayman's conscious, his pride roared like a beast inside the leash that Razoff had metaphorically attached to his freedom. His face instantly displayed a frown.

"Are...are you alright?" Vincent asked shyly, the worry evident in his timid tone.

"Hmmm?" Rayman raised an eyebrow in question at his companion as they continued up the steps. It seemed the bruise starkly standing out upon his pale skin somehow eluded him.

Vincent nervously wrung his scarf as if it was a noose worn to straggle, swallowing. He, almost hesitantly, motioned a gloved finger to Rayman's face, eyes seemingly locked on the carpet.

Vincent immediately was shocked however when Rayman suddenly chuckled heartily and grinned back as if he had not been struck by Razoff at all.

"Never better, ya worry too much," Rayman replied. He gently smacked Vincent on the back in a friendly gesture; Vincent winced a little on impulse, but knew it was only the other's playfulness. "Anyway, apparently you've got details on what happens when you try to escape through the front door?"

Vincent's kind eyes widened a little for a second, before he once again started fiddling with his scarf that matched the colour of his moonlight highlights. Rayman had noticed that, in the short two days he had been in the others presence, that this behaviour was a nervous habit of the other and it frequently occurred. The shy one kept his eyes trained on his scarf as Rayman opened a closet in the red painted corridor to retrieve the ladder.

"Well, I better start from the beginning," Vincent began as he twiddled his fingers, and Rayman raised an eyebrow. "When you were put to sleep by Razoff's drug, it did more than just put you to sleep. There is...another chemical added that even now is coursing through your veins. It is irremovable. There are special, high-tec guns all over this mansion that are designed to lock onto that chemical and instantly shoot you, if Razoff so desires, with a sleeping draft."

"Let me guess," Rayman groaned and Vincent cocked his head to the side cutely. "One of these 'special guns' is outside the door and designed to shoot me even if I step one foot out there?"

Vincent hesitantly nodded in confirmation. Rayman suddenly had a contemplating expression on his face. The darker one of the two felt a knot develop in his stomach and sweat-dropped uneasily, why was it that when Rayman was thinking he looked like was going to be up to no good? It was strange, for even though Rayman was generally cocky, he also seemed rather intelligent and thoughtful at times...as if he was lost in his own thoughts.

Rayman merely shrugged the answer off and grabbed the extendable ladder before dragging it out of the closet, it scarping across the wooden floorboards.

Vincent kindly assisted and both of them slowly made their way back down the staircase with one on either side of the ladder. They walked carefully sideways and Vincent felt his heart race again: what if they dropped it? Vincent took a chance and glanced up at the other, only to be mortifyingly confused at the fact he was sniggering with his eyes closed.

"Why, in heavens name, are you laughing?"

Rayman laughed harder in response. "Just picturing Razoff at the bottom of the stairs and dropping this on him."

Rayman gave a full blown grin and Vincent once again realised how different they were to each other. He forced himself to restrain a smile when Rayman sarcastically added, "By _accident_ of course."

Little did they know that Razoff was at the very top of the second staircase in the Foyer, leaning his arms against the banister as he peered amusedly down at the two descending the staircase below. He used his thumb and forefinger to tilt his hat a little further up so that it did not fall off his head, before leaning against the wooden railing again; he had nothing better to do at the moment and was ready for amusement from his favourite, disobedient slave.

Vincent undid and extracted the ladder. It was huge, unnaturally so, and it took a couple of minutes for it to be at full length to hover just below the large chandelier. At least fifty, at least fifty bulbs alone littered the chandelier because of its immense size, and Rayman sighed as his hungry stomach suddenly growled—this could take a while.

Razoff watched with keen eyes as the two had an inaudible conversation. Dangerous? No. Suspicious? Ever so slightly. Calmly interested with nothing else in mind to do? Very much so. After a moment, he raised an eyebrow as it seemed that Vincent had decided to go up to resume the job of the chandelier. Stern, black eyes observed calmly as Vincent went to the previously constructed table holding hundreds of boxes of light bulbs. He quickly retrieved some before approaching the ladder and climbing it.

In the back of his cunning mind the thoughtful Hunter blinked and wondered how the two had not sensed his presence yet.

"Take the new ones out, unscrew the old ones, screw the new ones in and put the old ones in the boxes," Vincent called from his position at the top so that Rayman knew what to do with the other light bulbs around the mansion.

Rayman narrowed his eyes, _why is Vincent not looking down?_ He shouted up to him, voice echoing throughout the entire mansion, "So ya basically switch their places?"

Vincent nodded in agreement as he had done one light bulb already and was mentally remembering where he had started; there were so many bulb holders on the chandelier that he really did have to remember where he began or risk unscrewing a new one in the future.

Rayman waited at the bottom, unsure. For some reason he did not want to leave Vincent do it all by himself. Perhaps a second ladder would suffice? Or maybe taking it turns would be adequate? But he was not offered the chance to intervene.

"I-I am fine; please, you do some of the others around the place. Remember, the black dots on the map are where the lights are."

Rayman gave him a concerned look, especially when he detected a slight tremble from the other at the top, but decided to brush it off and pulled out the ancient map. After examining it for a while, he rolled it back up and grabbed as many boxes as he could carry before walking down the corridor to the right.

Razoff just watched, just casually watched, no other intents, at Vincent from mere metres below the small slave; it seemed he had still not noticed him yet. Maybe it was better that way. Although he would have preferred it if Rayman was up there doing those bulbs, he shrugged and decided to let it slide this time and just let them get on with it.

XXXX

"Man that's purple," Rayman muttered to himself whilst tenderly examining his left cheek in the mirror that he had come across before. He pulled back and glared. "That utter git."

Several hours passed and Rayman had been in and out of the foyer frequently to retrieve more boxes, each time gazing up at Vincent still doing the chandelier. Rayman had actually done all of the rooms on the bottom floor in the many hours that had passed and was now on the second floor. Poor Vincent was only halfway through the chandelier since he was going up and down the ladder continuously to replace the boxes of old bulbs for new ones, and whenever Rayman was present he noticed how he went down the ladder ever so peculiarly slowly...

A sad sigh left him as Rayman stared at his reflection thoughtfully, thinking that he should really help him.

XXXX

One more hour passed, leaving Vincent almost done with the chandelier; he only had a couple more to go. He put the boxes filled with old bulbs on the step of the ladder and tightened his small ponytail that was becoming a little loose from his sweat matted hair. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he sighed exhaustedly, taking out another new bulb that was separate from the old ones on the ladder step. He was about to unscrew an old bulb when he suddenly felt a tremor vibrate through the ladder. Freezing for a second, he waited for it to happen again. Nothing came. He released a shaky sigh and continued on.

XXXX

Razoff was lounging in his favourite soft, red sofa in his Study while looking through his camera system to keep an eye on the two from afar. Per usual, his red hat rested on the arm of the chair, his hands behind his head in a relaxed posture as he had to reluctantly admit that his _untamed _slave had done exceptionally well in this task.

The Study was the only room out of two in the mansion that the other two inhabitants were forbidden to enter. So, they were always locked on all accounts. He always locked the door when he left his Study and always had the key constantly in his pocket. The second room they were barred from was his bedroom of course.

Turning his gaze briefly to the desk on the opposite side of the room, he noted that it was piled with papers and that the grey, ostrich feather, quill, lay on its side upon the wooden surface. Its tip was dry, signalling that he had not been touched it in a while. He frowned as a niggling sensation in the back of his mind irritably shouted at him to write that report to the Hunter's Guild now. Sighing, he ignored it; he could do that after seeing that his two slaves finished the job.

XXXX

Rayman had the cockiest grin on his face when he finally screwed in that final light bulb. The old one was smugly replaced in the grey cardboard box and the sound of the flap being stuck back down was music to his ears.

"I say the Hunter owes me dinner for all that, I practically did the whole mansion myself," Rayman spoke to himself. There was no shame in his stance as he did so either.

He chucked the bulb box in the air, listening with satisfaction as the faulty bulb jingled inside before catching it without looking. Just as he caught it, he suddenly had a coughing fit; it seemed that soot still irritated his lungs at the best of times.

"Blasted soot, blasted Hunter!"

XXXX

Vincent let out a silent sigh of relief; he only had one more to go. Opening the last box he took the shiny-new bulb out and examined it in his palm for a second, it reflecting the dim light of the room and sparkling in certain spots. Smiling hollowly, he leaned over to unscrew the final bulb...but it was the furthest away. He narrowed his eyes as he stretched out to it. His arm stretched over the chandelier. He balanced on his toes.

Suddenly the ladder wobbled and Vincent's eyes grew wide.

The ladder suddenly vanished. A shocked cry escaped him as his feet treaded air. He was forced to cling to the swaying chandelier. His sweaty gloved hands hardly had any grip—and he was so high up. The ground wavered below. Eyes screwed shut. His mind was a blur,_ So high, too high!_

An almighty crash of the ladder hitting the floor boomed. Vincent's heart raced wildly as fear gripped him. He shot panicked eyes upwards, to his grasp on the chandelier. Hopelessly watching as digits slipped. His grip was failing—fast.

XXXX

Razoff jumped. He was abruptly alert when an almighty bang vibrated through the mansion. Eyes shot to the screen. There Vincent was...hanging from his chandelier. Without a second thought he yanked on his hat and ran.

XXXX

Rayman snapped his head up in the direction of the cry—in the direction of the bang. It had come from the Foyer.

"Vincent..." He whispered before dropping the box.

He completely ignored the bulb that fell out, ignored the smash as it hit the floor.

XXXX

Vincent could feel one hand losing grip. It threatened to leave him hanging. It threatened to let him go. It threatened him to fall.

He felt hopeless, helpless. "HELP!"

Sweaty digits finally gave way, leaving him with merely one hand. Whenever he looked down he shuddered and screwed his eyes shut. The swaying made the remaining digits slip faster.

XXXX

Razoff skidded around the next corner. What if he didn't make it? What if Rayman didn't either? He was pretty sure the other was heading there too, there was no way he could have missed that bang. His feet thudded loudly down the corridor as he sprinted. Vincent's plea echoed in his ears. He sped for the final corner.

XXXX

"I'm on my way!" Rayman yelled as he bashed into a red wall on the next sharp turning. He practically leapt down the next steps. He could already hear the hinges of the chandelier. He just had to turn this final corner—

XXXX

Razoff appeared at the highest entrance of the Foyer at the top of the second staircase. Looking up he spotted Vincent losing his final grasp_. I just need to stretch my arms out and catch him_, Razoff thought and leaned over the banister.

XXXX

Rayman burst into the Foyer, panting. His eyes darted to the ceiling. At the same time he saw Razoff enter the room from the top entrance. The Hunter was leaning over the railing, ready to grab Vincent. He watched with a pounding heart as Vincent let out fearful cries. He watched the frightened expression—watched him slip.

XXXX

Suddenly a scream filled the room as Vincent's grasp gave way. Time itself seemed to slow. Razoff slowly forced his arms out to try to stop Vincent falling. Vincent slowly fell closer. Rayman's eyes widened as he ran in slow motion for the banister.

Razoff saw Vincent slowly falling nearer. His mind froze as his fingers outstretched. Vincent slowly brushed against his fingertips. Razoff watched in pure shock. His heart froze. He missed.

Razoff watched as he fell out of reach, plummeting in slow motion to the ground.

Rayman reached the banister and grabbed its edge, fingers powerfully grasping it. He slowly pushed off, forcing himself over it, and flew through the air. Hands stretched out—stretched towards the other. He slowly collided with the other with powerful force.

Rayman grasped Vincent tightly and fired his helicopter. It span in slow motion. The ground was close—too close. Vincent slammed his eyes closed with a yelp. Just in time, his helicopter was at full blast.

Everything suddenly sped up like a hurricane had hit. Slow motion vanished to be replaced by rapidly beating hearts. Rayman's helicopter wildly spun, safely easing them to the ground. Time sped up. Breaths came fast. Hearts raced.

"Are ya ok?" Remain asked, voice calm and reassuring.

It really did feel as if time had suddenly slowed down in those deadly seconds. Vincent was too shaken up to say anything and just trembled uncontrollably in Rayman's grip around him. If the situation wasn't so dire, then Vincent's tiny whimpers of fear would have made his heart melt in a heart beat.

"Thank Polokus," Razoff sighed out in relief and stood up from his position over the railing.

Adjusting his hat since it had become a little loose from his actions; the Hunter started to descend the stairs. He would not admit it out loud, but if Rayman had not been present then Vincent could have possibly been dead right now from falling from such a height, and if not then seriously injured. It was strange, for you could argue that in a twisted way he was actually relieved that he had captured his prey rather than the fact the new slave had actually been there to save the other.

They were obviously further from the floor than previously thought since Rayman's whizzing hair was still drifting them down to the ground. Vincent took that moment to check what exactly was happening, and his eyes went unimaginably wide at what he saw when he finally opened them, albeit anxiously.

"H-How are you doing that?" Vincent gasped. In disbelief, he could not take his eyes off Rayman's spinning hair, a power nothing if not miraculous. Rayman just smiled warmly at him.

His answer was short yet sweet, "I've always been able to do it."

When their feet finally made contact and tapped gently against the tiles, Vincent immediately buckled in Rayman's arms. The Guardian reflexively caught him just before he harshly hit the floor. He could feel Vincent's body trembling from the shock of it all. He carefully pulled a glove off with his teeth, refusing to let the unstable other go, and put the bare hand to the others forehead, finding Vincent sweating. He frowned at also feeling that Vincent was extremely cold from the shock in unison—the undeniable signs of a shock induced fever. Looking at his companions' face with soft eyes, he worriedly noticed how the colour had drained from the usually black and blue features. Vincent now looked slightly grey and his eyes were immensely unfocused.

"All in a days work, I'm glad you got the light bulbs done."

Razoff's words shot through Rayman like a fiery bullet of rage, its mere force alone made his blood boil to dangerous levels. His grip on Vincent unintentionally tightened as he sharply snapped his head up to the Hunter with a snarl. The Hunter had reached the ground floor where they currently were.

"How dare you..." Rayman hissed through gritted teeth, Razoff immediately halting in the process of walking to the two. The Hunter had never seen such pure anger, such pure fury pour from someone's eyes before. It took him aback. "How dare you, how_ dare_ you put a petty job over his life! Aren't you at least a bit alive? Aren't you even concerned about him you bastard!"

Vincent flinched in Rayman's safety grip and Rayman felt guilty at realising his raised voice was probably making the other feel even worse.

Razoff just stood there for a moment, indifferent.

"He's alive, that's all that counts. As long as he's alive the jobs can be done: he's just a slave and will be treated as such. I give you a couple of hours to recover...then I want you back to work," Razoff directed the last part towards Vincent who could only nod numbly with eyes frozen to the floor.

Before Rayman could object against such heartless actions, Razoff was already heading back up the stairs, Rayman watching and growling furiously as the Hunter did not even spare them another glance. He ascended up the next flight of steps to the very top floor and vanished.

"Come back—"

"Let it go. P-Please let it go," The pure despair in Vincent's normally gentle voice was like a clamp on Rayman's heart. "Please, take me back to the cellar...I-I think I need a-a lie down."

Rayman just nodded slowly and spotted the cellar door only metres away. He once again started coughing out of the blue as he lead Vincent to it; it seemed that he would not completely stop coughing for a long time yet. But was it something to worry about?

XXXX

Razoff shut his Study door and put the rusty key into the keyhole so that it locked from the inside. A click filled the room as he turned the key, yet he didn't move as his hand was frozen on the key's rough surface. A deadly silence settled over the Study, one that was deafening and buzzed in his ears.

"**Aren't you even concerned about him you bastard!"**

"...Of course I'm concerned," Razoff hopelessly muttered as he slowly rested his forehead against the oak door. The action made the red hat slide off the back of his head and drift agonisingly slowly to the crimson carpet. "I wouldn't have even tried to save him if I felt otherwise."

Razoff would not admit it audibly, but it really hurt to say those words to Vincent just to keep his higher position of Master over slave. It was something that he was forced to do in order to keep the slaves at bay, but it hurt deep inside to do so.

Of course, he could never admit it out loud to anyone and the fact that he did, indeed, care...would always be expertly hidden.


	8. Bonds Get Stronger

Bonds get stronger 

After leading Vincent into the cellar and being with him for a while Rayman ascended the steps and was shocked to see a package sitting outside the door, it being wrapped snugly in ordinary, brown, packaging paper. Blinking, he opened the note folded upon the top and felt his anger boil at who was its sender, but to be honest it could not be from anyone else.

_Slave,_

_As promised here is your food, I may despise your attitude at times but I never break a promise and I did say that once you had finished the jobs that you could eat. If you're truly concerned for Vincent, then perhaps we can make a compromise: Vincent has the rest of the day off if you do his remaining jobs. I think that's fair._

_Razoff._

"Git," Rayman drawled, but stopped being _too _angry when he picked up the package of food with a satisfied smirk. "Food first."

XXXX

"If I had to give a single reason to not hate him, it would be that he is a great cook, too bad he is too much of a lazy ass to do it often," Rayman spoke to himself, voice ringing in the emptiness of the kitchen. He had decided not to eat in the cellar in order to give Vincent some needed privacy.

When unwrapped, the given package was a box filled with a still warm cheese and tomato pastry that was obviously homemade. A juicy red apple and cut up cucumber had joined it and even Rayman would admit that it felt good to eat those directly after the deliciously steaming pastry to balance it out. Overall, with the bottle of water added which he had hurriedly guzzled down in-between coughs from his irritated lungs, he had to admit that the jerk could cook and knew exactly what combination of foods fit with what. Some people were horrendous at it...like Ly.

Suddenly shaking his head to rid himself of the horrors of the past—in both contexts of the fairy's food and his final memory of her—he stood up and went to wash the box that had carried his lunch. It was not that he hated Ly, in fact it was quite the opposite and he adored her with an unbridled passion. She had been a hard working fairy; however, behind that beauty, the girl could not cook for her life. That was usually when Murfy came in; you would not believe that the joking flying frog could actually cook. It was then Rayman smiled sadly to himself with hands in the hot and bubbly water, pausing in his scrubbing as he thought of his old team.

He was the overconfident, and he would admit cocky, hero, that would help anyone in their time of need since he was geuinely a very caring person. Murfy was like the assistant who was always joking around, but was also majorly intelligent behind that cheekiness and could always lighten up the mood. Then there was his best friend Globox, not to be rude, but he was not the sharpest tool in the box and was the most oblivious, and Rayman knew it. However...he had a big heart, and was the most innocent person Rayman knew that loved him for the person he was _inside_ and not for the hero everyone else saw. That was why they were best friends.

Then there was Ly...

Rayman's breath caught in his throat and his eyes dampened. His hands froze in the washing bowl.

Poor young Ly, she was the only female of the crew and was the most beautiful fairy he had ever laid eyes on. However, he had only seen her as a friend since he had been too afraid to push it further and break the bond that they already shared—a regret that would forever weigh down his sorrowful heart now that she was gone. She had been amazing at magic and had been the most serious in the gang; she could always bring them back down to earth if Murfy got everyone too laid back.

Sighing, he stopped reminiscing and grabbed a yellow towel that matched the yellow colour scheme of the kitchen to dry the plate off, the kitchen being the only room in the house that was completely yellow and gold rather than red. As he finished and put it into its destined cupboard, he looked at the other nineteen next to it in a row. Out of the twenty cupboards, fifteen of them had large padlocks on them.

Darting his eyes curiously to the fridge, he saw a padlock barring it as off limits too. Rayman growled at realising that Razoff was preventing them from eating whenever they wished and they could only eat when he saw fit. Closely examining a padlock on one of the cupboards and fiddling with it in-between his gloved fingers, he immediately decided that these could easily be broken with his fist attack. He just stored this in the back of his mind for future use.

He once again sighed whilst he went to do what would have been Vincent's tasks after the long and tiring morning of practically changing every light bulb in the mansion. He was already exhausted, but he was going to do this for Vincent because that heartless git shut up in his Study two floors up would make him work after almost falling to his death.

Yes, he would do it, for Vincent's sake.

XXXX

It was around eight o'clock in the evening when Rayman finally trudged down the cellar steps with huge black bags under his eyes, not only had he only gotten two hours of sleep last night but he had not stopped working all day. Not only that, but he desperately needed to go to the bathroom, and longingly desired a hot, refreshing, shower. But he huffed at knowing that he would not receive one from the knowledge Vincent had bestowed on him.

His first job of Vincent's had been in the library on the highest floor that also housed Razoff's Study, he had to organise every bookshelf into alphabetical order. He sneered at the stone wall as he continued down the cellar steps as he understood that Razoff had deliberately made the book order even more messed up to make it more difficult for him, just for him. He had also curiously noticed that a book was missing that Razoff must possess right now; by the look of the other books on that particular shelf it had to have a black leather bound cover as well.

After many hours in the library, he had to go to the small room next door to the library to scrub the red rug that was still covered in his soot and ash. That actually had taken longer than expected, especially since he only had one bucket and Razoff still insisted that he only got water from the kitchen on the other side of the mansion...and when he disobeyed and attempted the bathroom, he rolled his eyes and finding it firmly locked.

When he had peered around the corner of the doorway of that small room, he had made a mental note that Razoff's Study was literally a couple of doors away—shut and predictably locked.

Reaching the bottom of the cellar steps and putting his now filthy gloved hand upon the rusty doorknob, he exhaustedly sighed and entered without knocking. On walking in, he saw Vincent sitting up groggily, the other obviously just waking up from a shock induced sleep. Rayman gave a tired smile and chuckled, for the other had a considerable amount normal blue back to his face and had some stray strands of coal hair sticking out all over the place. Rayman gave him a comforting smile, _Vincent definitely looks better at least._

Giving the sleepy other an apologetic smile that clearly stated 'excuse me,' he passed the other in bed to briskly move for the bathroom door. Vincent barely registered it as he rubbed his eyes, only blinking in surprise when he heard the bathroom door shut a moment later. His hair twitched unconsciously in his ponytail as he heard the tap running when the other obviously washed his hands. He groggily groaned in his drowsiness, before he turned timidly to the door. There he found Rayman closing it behind him, a sigh of obvious relief escaping him as he carefully slipped his gloves back on. The cream one then turned to the night coloured one. It caused Vincent to make a cute, almost whimper-like sound and shyly turn his gaze away.

"Ya gave me quite a scare, ya know?" Rayman confidently smirked despite his exhausted state and folded his invisible arms; it _would_ have appeared natural if he did not look and sound so tired at the same time.

Vincent fiddled with his scarf, before then tightening his tiny ponytail since it was considerably loose from sleep. He seemed to be trying to distract himself. Eyes locked on Rayman's feet and followed them nervously as the other walked towards his bed, sitting down comfortably on the edge. He felt the other's extra weight cause the mattress to dip to that side in favour. Once again, a comfortable silence settled between them, and the dark atmosphere of the cellar did not seem so gloomy in the silent seconds that ticked by.

Vincent suddenly gave a murmur, effectively breaking the silence, "Thank you...for this morning."

The low and gentle voice made Rayman instantly relax after the stressful day. Stress had never befallen him in his hero days, not even saving the world caused him stress, but the type of things he had to do _now_ caused it. It made no sense to him. Once again he wondered if Vincent realised just how easing his voice sounded, that low voice was just really soothing to hear. Without answering the other, he just nodded in acknowledgment with a yawn.

"What you did...you are saying that you have always been able to do that?" Vincent questioned, he could not quite hide the wonder in his tone as he looked at Rayman's white `o` pattern on his chest instead of his eyes or feet—halfway.

Vincent realised that even though Rayman was barely an inch taller than him and that he was really cocky and overconfident, he also cared for others immensely and that included Vincent himself it seemed. This made him somewhat comforted, a thoroughly foreign feeling to him. He did not feel alone anymore like he had for the past gruelling year. Although...he still felt far from content.

"Born like it. Ya sure you can't do it?" Rayman asked with a raised eyebrow. Vincent just closed his eyes and shook his head sadly. "What about dislocating your hands?"

The poor timid male looked alarmed at the prospect as he unconsciously gripped his hands, "D-Dislocating my hands?"

Vincent almost had a heart attack when the other's hand flashed a magical blue before suddenly shooting from his body. It ran with its fingers across the cellar to pick up a candle on the closest side of the room. It hurried back, sprung back into place with a dim flash, rocked in place for a moment from the force, so that Rayman was now holding it for Vincent to see. Vincent just stared at the small object in awe. _This guy..._Vincent's thought trailed off as for the first time he completely met eye contact with his new friend. Both of them stared into each others eyes_. He truly is something else._

"No, I can not do that. I...do not remember if I even have any abilities."

Rayman chuckled lightly, irises glittering. "A good thing too, ya know. They maybe a part of me, a part of my very own body, but my hands literally have minds of their own. Many a time I've woken up to find them missing and would spend hours looking for them—they like to get up to mischief."

"L-Like you."

Vincent choked on air and froze in shock as those stammered words slipped.

Rayman burst out into full blown laughter at this, at seeing the pure fear in the other's shrunken pupils. Did Vincent truly think he would be offended by stating the truth?

"Ya got that right!"

If there was one thing Rayman could do, it was admit to his character faults. He knew he was mischievous, he knew he was overly curious, he knew he was overconfident at times, and he ,pst certainly knew that he had a short temper when it came to certain things. But the best thing was that he accepted every one of them full heartedly.

Vincent looked back down at his hands to break eye contact, causing him to miss Rayman's disappointed expression at their first proper eye contact breaking so swiftly.

_Well, at least it's progress_, Rayman positively thought whilst giving his shyer companion another of his purely genuine smiles that could make any viewers heart shine. He could now say that it was official, after he had rescued Vincent this morning the other was beginning to show ever so minor signs of warming up to him a little more. Minuscule to the point it was almost invisible. But he still saw it there,_ there_, there deep within his heart. A Guardian always could. Rayman could officially say that something was finally being built between him and this emotionless male; like an invisible bridge had joined them together and its bonds would become stronger the bigger it got. Maybe that bridge would become strong enough to carry true feelings, memories and pure trust between them some day.

_The bridge between us is weak, even fragile, _Rayman thought with soft black eyes shining a dazzling indigo in a beam of light that seemed dim in comparison to his smile, tenderly watching Vincent once again fiddling with his scarf ends_...but at least its foundation has been built._

Vincent cautiously glanced up at those watching eyes and gasped before hastily looking away.

"Y-Your eyes," Vincent suddenly exclaimed to the floor, shocked. Rayman raised a questioning eyebrow with a smile, knowing what was coming. "Apologies, I...I thought they were black. They have certainly looked like it all this time."

"Nah, they're blue. They're just a _really_ deep sapphire. Don't worry about it, everyone mistakes them. Ya can only see their true colour in the right light," Rayman said, a content exhale leaving his lungs. He gave a tired smirk and added through a yawn, "You're one of the very few to spot it, though."

The Guardian suddenly felt just how run down he truly was. It became even more apparent when a wave of fatigue washed over him like a tidal wave. It was strong, and he had to close his eyes to stop the pounding sensation it formed in his head. Cupping his head in his hands for a moment, he groaned in complaint, and Vincent glanced to him in the corner of his eye with concern.

It was then it happened. Vincent felt it all of a sudden in that very moment and tensed. The normally happy atmosphere seemed to vanish around Rayman as if it had been sucked away into a black hole invisible to the naked eye. No... Because the black hole resided nowhere except his soul where no one could see it—pulling threads of confidence loose from the inside out. He could see Rayman frowning on the edge of the bed and his heart sank as it looked as if the other had lost all hope in the seconds that the room had grown colder and colder, tenser and tenser. He really did not like this miserable aura currently engulfing his usually outgoing partner.

"Ya were right, before," Rayman quietly muttered. He leant back on his palms on the mattress. Vincent cocked his head to the side in thought, trying to remember what exactly it was he had said. "You were right when you said...'there's nothing to smile about.'"

**Rayman finished, "Smile a little more...you've got a nice smile."******

**"...There is nothing to smile about."**

Vincent's eyes widened and he slowly bowed his head to stare at his dark blue gloves, he seemed to be contemplating something as he watched his fingers clench and unclench slowly.

"...Then keep smiling," Vincent hesitantly replied. Rayman snapped his head to his friend in bewilderment. "Keep smiling. Prove Razoff wrong, prove that you will not let him get to you and make you miserable. Prove me wrong, keep smiling and then maybe...I can smile truthfully one day too."

Rayman stared in surprise at the other, who now had his eyes nervously locked on the crinkles of the sheet still covering him in his position in bed. He had never expected something like that to come from Vincent. He chuckled again, and Vincent looked up slightly with an almost unnoticeable timid blush amidst the blue of his skin.

"Well, when ya put it that way," Rayman sounded just like his original self again, voice brimming with confidence and cockiness abound. As he grinned, he winked at Vincent. "I won't let Razoff be satisfied. Besides, my pride won't allow it anyway."

Abruptly, Rayman laid down beside the still sitting Vincent. He released a comfortable sigh at finding it still housed the other's body heat through the sheet and shut his eyes in bliss for a mere moment. On his face was one of his room brightening smiles.

Vincent suddenly felt himself warm up inside; this guy was just so different from him. The darker one then knew, in that very moment, that he had found a true companion.

Fortunately, Vincent could not read minds, for Rayman still felt that his threads of confidence had dampened in the confines of his sturdy conscious. He forced the feeling under lock and key, just allowed his usual self to return to the surface by pure will along. He needed to get out of here, he needed to find a way to get Ly back...but he was trapped. How had Vincent survived a year? How would _he_ survive a year? Survive it without letting his spirit break? What would his great friend—Ly—think if she could see how low he had fallen?

"**You have a good heart, Rayman. It will always be in the right place."**

His sapphire eyes opened. They sharpened to a determined arctic blue—he knew what he had to do. Not tonight for he needed rest, but tomorrow night he would wait for that mysterious Being from before.

Vincent spotted the gleam in those eyes and instantly felt uneasy. Why did it always feel that when Rayman was thinking so hard...he was up to something?


	9. A Day of Surprises

A day of surprises

The next morning arrived quickly, too quickly. Rayman slowly awoke feeling completely rested, stretching contentedly to sort out the kinks of last night's brilliant sleep. The bed creaked when he slowly sat up and sleepily rubbed his eyes, before then running a hand through his hair. Staring, just staring off into space, those glassy pupils seeming afar in the realm of thought.

Those pupil coals sharpened with an ignited flame. Indeed, he needed the rest, for tonight he would await that mysterious Being from before to return once more. Certainly it would return...

Humming in appreciated at how good he felt for he change, he turned his gaze to the bed opposite. Only to find that Vincent had already gone. A sigh was all that escaped him at that, he hoped the other was alright.

Shaking the last remnants of his lingering drowsiness away, he swivelled his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up feeling completely refreshed. He felt good. He felt good enough to take on anything Razoff threw at him today, no matter how humiliating it may be. However, the mood was ruined as he had another coughing fit and he softly patted the chest that housed his sore lungs.

"Take on anything that doesn't include chimneys again, I think," Rayman corrected himself, before heading towards the door through the cellar ringing with the rattling of the chains. It was loud, yet somehow comforting, much more so compared to the bang of a gun or a cry of a friend...

He frowned at that.

Dust churned up underfoot on the stone as once again the now familiar scent of damp wafted through the overly large cellar. He raised an eyebrow at suddenly realising that he had not really explored it as of yet, and that he and Vincent only occupied not even one tenth of the large space. Curiosity was apparent; he would have to find time to fully check the place out. He was purely curious, why have such an amount of space if it is not used? A shake of his head followed, for now he just had to store this unbridled interest away.

As he tentatively grasped the doorknob his expression steeled for the horrid world beyond this cellar door.

Carefully shutting it behind him since Vincent, for some mysterious reason unknown, was rather persistent about it always being closed; he sighed in his dejection of it all and began to climb the curving steps to the ground floor. Up, up, up he forced himself to climb, yet instead of rising to a good place like ascending should, it felt more like Heaven and Hell had turned on its head and he was rising to Hell instead—to that upper mansion that burned at his pride. A smirk lit his lips; '_burned'_ was ironic was it not? And yet the smirk instantly vanished as swiftly as it had appeared, for he could not throw out the feeling that as he forced himself on to this Hell...that Ly was falling more and more distant than ever.

Each frustrated footstep clinked on the stone. Each step a drum beat of his ascent, or was that really the alive beat of his heart. Each one echoed off the narrow walls of the spiral as he finally emerged into the crimson and yellow Foyer.

The first thing he noticed was that the chandelier was on. It filled the room with bright red light that reflected off the tiled floor, it made this prison of a mansion feel homey. Rayman's fists clenched in fury, he hated it. He _resented_ it! He sneered at the chandelier in utter distain. That same light which brought homey comfort was the very same demon's glow that had nearly made Vincent fall to his doom not even twenty four hours prior. He made himself avert his gaze away bitterly. Hell was Hell, no matter what fake mirage it forged.

"Supposedly, I've gotta find that _jerk_, such joy," Rayman spat as if even the nickname 'jerk' was venom now. "Or I find Vincent—"

Something seemed to visibly choke him and he abruptly froze in his tracks. All he did was glance up for the briefest of moments, and what did he find? Sapphire eyes widened, his jaw dropping.

There, just on the opposite side of the Foyer, were the front doors—wide open. Without even realising it he nearly lost his footing mid-step with a gasp. Open. He spotted them wide open, but that was not the main reason for his shock. No, the main reason was that Vincent was standing _outside_, the Bog of Murk looking gloomy as always behind his moonlit form whilst he seemed to be collecting something. Suspiciously, Rayman briskly walked towards the giant doors just as Vincent turned around holding something.

"I thought ya said there were special guns?" Rayman asked in confusion as Vincent walked timidly towards him holding something. He instantly mentally palm smacked his forehead: he had not intended to sound so sceptical and harsh.

Guilt slapped the Guardian like a pillow of bricks to the face when Vincent flinched and hesitated in his path, seeming lower than before when his head bowed. His protective persona screamed at him respectfully, _What am I thinking?! Why would I feel suspicious about Vincent, he's innocent! He doesn't deserve my unreasonable doubt._

Vincent whispered in caution, warning. "T-There are, but it is mail hour. Razoff turns it off so I can retrieve the mail...but he is watching us intently right now,"

Luckily, Rayman inwardly sighed in relief at sheepishly seeing that Vincent had not taken the hefty suspicion to heart.

Rayman made a face of understanding to Vincent at noticing the many evidential envelopes in his companion's hands. However, he slowly raised an eyebrow in curiosity when he noticed a heart shaped box under all the paper.

"And what do we have here?~" Rayman sang teasingly in a sing-song tone as he snatched the box from his friend as fast as lightning.

Vincent's eyes went wide in mortification and he felt himself sweat nervously, darting his eyes to the ceiling to try and find the camera.

"Someone's got an admirer!~" Rayman sang as he waved the box in front of Vincent's face unabashedly. "No doubt, this has to be from Bégoniax!"

"P-Pardon?" Vincent stammered, still in complete and utter shock at the other's mischievous behaviour.

"Ya know, a massive pothead woman with a pitchfork that hurts like hell?" Rayman smirked as he curiously tested the weight of the black, heart shaped, box with one hand.

Vincent felt like he was going to pass out with nerves. He kept glancing around in case Razoff suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

"D-Do not even dare," Vincent hissed fearfully and lost all colour all of a sudden as Rayman was getting _too_ curious to the point that he was slowly about to open the box and take a peek. "Curiosity killed the cat y-you know."

"But if the cat discovers something and miraculously survives, then the cat knows something no one else does," Rayman sniggered and it became a little laugh when Vincent's eyes grew even larger.

"Please, please do not do it," Vincent pleaded.

At Vincent's pleading expression, Rayman finally conceded with a small, playful whine.

"Anyway, ya said mail hour?" Rayman questioned whilst handing the box over to Vincent.

"Indeed, mail hour is between 6 and 6:30AM, I suppose you can not really call it a mail hour since it is only half as long," Vincent sighed out with relief in taking the heart shaped box back. "Regardless, I better put these outside his Study door."

"...Wait, it's earlier than seven in the morning?! What the hell am I doing up?" Rayman chuckled to himself, smirking.

Vincent merely tilted his head to the side in answer, an emotionless smile in place. Those black bangs slightly obscured his eyes and his moonlight blue ponytail elegantly slipped onto his shoulder. It was unclear whether it was because Rayman was forgetting to move out of his way (that he was just too shy to point it out,) or if it was actually from the comment.

Rayman stepped aside and allowed Vincent to get up the carpeted staircase; his feet making no sound on the soft fabric as he nodded back to Rayman in thanks.

"Oh, M-Master Razoff wants to see you upstairs as well," Vincent suddenly recalled and called in his gentle voice back down the stairs; Rayman rolled his eyes in loathing. He then peered down at his feet nervously as he continued. "You wanted to find him anyway, correct? He wants you in the library, so could you...walk with me, please?"

Rayman gave him the biggest grin Vincent had ever seen before running up the steps to walk by his side. Before, Vincent used to try and defensively be alone, but now he was actually asking for the other's presence. Although, Rayman could tell that he was awfully shy in doing so as Vincent, as usual, kept his eyes glued to the floor as they walked through the highest entrance of the Foyer and down the narrow corridor towards Razoff's Study.

"'_Wanted_' is not quite the word ya looking for." Rayman cockily strutted ahead with an elegantly fluent spin to face the other, arms behind his head—smirking. "The word is 'had.'"

Vincent nodded ever so slightly, letting loose a whisper, "You 'had' to find him anyway? Indeed, apologies, I should have phrased that better."

**Apologies.** Rayman's hair drooped a little in sadness as it sounded as if Vincent was berating himself for it.

**I should have.**

_**Should...**_

_Why not 'could have'...? Ya don't _have_ to do anything, Vin..._

When they reached the Study, Vincent was about to place the post in front of the black door when the unexpected sound of it unlocking made him cutely jump. The door inwardly swung open and there Razoff stood with his hat on as normal. Both slaves tensed, both for completely different reasons.

When the Hunter turned his stern gaze to Vincent, the slave hastily looked to the floor and took a step back nervously with a racing heart. When he turned his gaze to Rayman beside Vincent however, the untamed slave actually took a step forward and glared challenging into his eyes, as if in threat. Razoff smiled at the challenge. After all, a Rayman who did not fight back was not Rayman at all.

**XXXX**

After that undesired meet up, Rayman found himself standing on the crimson rug in the library with Razoff standing directly in front of him. The Hunter's hands were behind his back in his signature straight posture. It was extremely dark and the only source of light came from the flickering embers of the burning fireplace. The first thought that came to Rayman's mind was, _a fireplace, in a library? Dumbass._

Razoff slowly moved towards his usual red sofa near the fire, not once taking his eyes off of Rayman's. The other moved in the same direction to keep the same distance, keeping eyes locked challengingly on the man that was causing him hell. The two looked like two lions circling each other, waiting to see who would strike first. Taunt, retort, fist, gun, both waited for the first attack. The suspense was so thick it was sickening. The air itself felt stiff with it.

Then Razoff sat down with a sigh with his finger tips touching, causing the manoeuvre to end...but the locked eyes never once broke.

"As untamed as ever I see, slave," Razoff taunted with a smirk and realised that this game of bait and lures was a common routine between them by now. Surprising, since the new slave had only been said slave for a few days. Shadows formed by the fire danced across his contemplating face. A shadow slightly obscured his eyes that stared unwavering into the others.

"I'd like to see ya tame me, jerk," Rayman retorted in the same style with his signature cocky smirk challenging him, just as expected by the Hunter. The flickering flames of the fire sparkled in his big and shiny eyes. It made them glow brilliantly, just like his burning passion to disobey would never die.

Both just stared, refusing to break the chain like eye-lock they had forged. Tense silence engulfed them, one that made the eye staring contest even more deadly. It was as if one was waiting for the other to break it, to break it and let all danger loose.

Rayman's eyes narrowed into a glare, demanding the Hunter to snap first. Even with the fire blazing a chill seemed to crawl up Rayman's spine as if Razoff's rivalling glare was literally touching his mind like an icy claw, as if he was mentally probing him to extract a reaction. A reaction that Rayman refused to give—refusing to make him satisfied.

Then suddenly, Razoff gave a sigh and broke eye-contact. Rayman felt his heart skip a beat. He inwardly cheered in victory for being the winner, but blinked in suspicious confusion. Suspicion was practically sweeping from him in waves.

Razoff just took his red hat off and placed it firmly on the arm of his chair so that it would not fall. Then he leaned over to the small side table beside him and Rayman's eyes went wide as he realised that what the Hunter had gracefully grabbed was a book. It was the black and leather bound cover one that had to be the book currently missing from the shelf.

"Get me some tea," Razoff ordered with a daring glance, holding the book open in one hand as the other hand elegantly rested its fingers under his tired chin. His eyes remained focused in his novel. "You should know the drill by now, understand?"

Rayman rolled his eyes and answered in a bored tone, "Yeah, yeah."

He left the room to head for the kitchen without waiting for anything else. In turn...he missed the ever so brief raise of an eyebrow from the Hunter. Obviously, the slave forgot that he had to say something specific.

**XXXX**

Coming back in with a white china teapot filled with tea, a matching cup with its saucer, milk, sugar, and teaspoons all laid out neatly on a silver tray (all courtesy of the kind Vincent who remained emotionlessly quiet whilst putting it all together as the other paced and ranted on how much he hated Razoff,) Rayman placed it on the side table beside the Hunter's sofa. It jingled a little on contact as the ruby encrusted rim of the tray sparkled in the light of the fire, the teaspoons also had one ruby embedded on the end of their handles and it looked very elegant and expensive. Razoff was reading away and Rayman felt his curious nature seep through yet again that day because he_ really_ wanted to know what a git like him would read. He was about to turn and leave when Razoff called him mid way.

"One moment..." Razoff spoke sternly into the silence as he picked up and examined the china teacup. He observed it in his free hand with the book still open in the other as he came to a conclusion. "This is not my favourite teacup, go get it."

"They all look the same," Rayman stated simply with a scowl, his patience was still under control though.

"No, mine is perfect like me. This one has a chip in the china," Razoff grinned almost evilly at seeing how his actions were slowly _chipping_ into Rayman himself. "Understand, boy?"

_You have such an ego!_ "...Whatever."

Rayman growled with his fists clenched and practically stomped out of the library, not missing the small chuckle that followed his exit. On his way out he nervously took a step aside as the ginger cat briskly trotted passed him to its owner with its tail held loyally high, those yellow eyes glowing like a demon's in the semi-darkness. He did not know what it was, but that feline highly unsettled him—especially when it paused halfway in its trip to just turn and stare at him. Rayman's heart froze and he nearly missed his footing.

For the second time he forgot that he had to say something specific, and Razoff rolled his eyes.

**XXXX**

When Rayman returned with another cup he almost completely exploded. There Razoff sat, cat affectionately curled on his lap...sipping from the first cup! A thunder cloud appeared above his head, he was seriously going to blow up any second now as he felt his body tremble with bottled up exasperation. Spotting Rayman seething furiously in the corner of his eye, Razoff smirked over the rim of his cup.

The cat purred louder at Rayman's reappearance. Rayman would swear on his life it winked at him. Was that some sort of warning? He dreaded to find out.

"You took too long, boy," Razoff tormented. He quickly flicked his eyes to his page number before a thud filled the room when he gently closed the book. "Sit."

Taking a double take to make sure that he had heard that right, the slave cautiously sat in the other identical sofa opposite Razoff which the Hunter signalled to with a graceful flick of his wrist. He watched as Razoff placed the book down next to the tray of objects before suddenly leaning over and taking the extra cup out of Rayman's hands, the cat loyally refusing to leave the lap of its owner the whole time.

It was not that the cup had been taken that shocked Rayman; it was more that it had been done gently and not snatched.

Blinking in predictable confusion, Rayman watched Razoff smile as he filled the cup with brown tea. He watched the orange firelight reflect off the fluent fluid as it flowed into the cup. His eyes then widened and his mind became a blur as thoughts whizzed rapidly._ Oh Polokus, is he going to throw that at me? That looks scolding!_

At seeing Rayman's face and picking up what he was thinking, Razoff chuckled lightly. Amusement was heavily obvious in his eyes.

"Not what you think, you can help yourself to milk and sugar," Razoff sighed, giving a little laugh as Rayman's eyes looked about big enough to pop out of his head.

Razoff picked his own teacup up again and sipped the sweet beverage with content.

"What are ya up to? You've done something haven't ya? Sleep draft? Poison maybe?" Rayman accused with suspicious and narrowed eyes.

He slowly reached for the glossy sugar pot, fully expecting his hand to suddenly get stabbed or something. However, Razoff just sat back and let himself sink more comfortably into his comfy chair—amused.

"Must you always be so suspicious?" Razoff smiled innocently, knowing full well that the boy would never be otherwise.

"Then why?" Rayman questioned.

Rayman added a single teaspoon of the sugar into the auburn coloured tea. It lapped gently against the sides of the delicate cup as he stirred it with bell-like clinks, it sounding like a bell. But what kind of bell was it, a warning bell?

Razoff informed him simply, "Only after you've drunk it."

The Hunter then closed his eyes as he felt the hot tea warm his insides and relax him. He distinctively heard the other grab the milk jug and then the sound of more stirring following, albeit hesitantly.

**XXXX**

After Rayman had completely finished his tea he licked his lips before putting the empty cup back onto its saucer. He then turned a questioning eye to the Hunter that anyone apart from Rayman would think was asleep.

"Twice," Razoff began in a drowsy tone as he sat up and grabbed his hat. The cat yawned before giving a cute chirp and pouncing off to leave. "Twice you didn't call me what you have been assigned to, you didn't call me 'Master.' I'm not in the mood for physical punishment today so I have decided that I'm going to starve you for a few days. That tea was the last tasteful thing you would swallow."

Rayman felt himself internally freeze; Razoff had done it all on purpose! Razoff had deliberately made him go and get another cup for this very urpose and not because he was being picky about the first one. Making him taste something sweet before being starved, Razoff had done it to tease him. This had been his plan from the very beginning. Rayman had taken the bait and had been lured in, hooked, lined and sinker.

**XXXX**

"That absolute bastard!" Rayman seethed, but there was a strange grin on his face and he laughed. "That utterly cunning bastard."

After a very strange morning, Rayman decided to go to the cellar for a little break before he had to wash the mirrors, the job Razoff had assigned him before being dismissed. Descending down the stairs and opening the cellar door with a resounding creak, he saw Vincent standing there.

Rayman froze in the doorway; the other looked exceedingly guilty and nervous about something as he fiddled with his scarf a bit more vigorously than usual. Rayman cocked an eyebrow at his peculiar behaviour, well _more_ peculiar behaviour than usual, as he suspiciously slowly shut the door.

"What did R-Razoff require?" Vincent stuttered as if trying to sway Rayman from how oddly guilty he looked. Rayman was not swayed.

"Oh just getting at me in his own sneaky way like the norm...something up?" Rayman curiously inquired and he was even more curious when Vincent's eyes went wide.

He knew immediately that something was up when Vincent did not shake his head, or do any sort of response for that matter. Rayman was patient with Vincent though; he always was, so he waited in the slightly suspenseful silence that had enveloped the cellar for him to reply.

Eventually, Vincent looked up a little and actually met eye contact with his friend for the second time. However, it was only brief before he frightfully looked down again.

"Rayman?" Vincent nervously asked and the said male eyed him, watching as the more timid one bit his lip slightly. Detecting that he had the other's attention, he stared at his twiddling fingers. "I-I have been hiding something from you and I think you really should know. I have been hiding her from Master Razoff and I think, now, I can trust that you will not tell him."

"Ya 'think I really should know?' More like ya 'know I really should know,'" Rayman chuckled, pointing a gloved finger and jabbing his friend's scarf in a teasing gesture. "Well then, who or what are we talking about?"

Vincent let yet another hollow smile appear on his face and Rayman was almost shocked to see that in Vincent's eyes...it wasn't entirely hollow. His eyes, there was a sort of dull sparkle developing. It had a long way to go until it was a proper, happy filled smile, but there definitely was a little spark appearing there.

Rayman suddenly heard a rustling to the side of him. When he interestedly turned to have a glimpse, he found Vincent's boots moving in the air as he leaned over the edge of his bed—getting something from underneath. Rayman would never admit that he jumped (his pride way too high for such an admittance)when he heard a loud squeak from under the bed. It sounded more like a toy squeak, and Rayman sweat dropped in confusion. Yet, when Vincent finally hauled himself up with laboured breaths, Rayman just could not stop his eyes from widening when he saw something actually moving in the other's arms.

"She belongs to a vermin species called the Ugly; Master Razoff had many here on the residence before he crated them up and sent them off to the Hunters Guild for experiments. I have been concealing her away for months and that is why I always want the door shut. This one Ugly had hidden away unnoticeably. I was cleaning when I came across her, she looked so scared. I...I just could not let Razoff discover her and send her away to the same horrid fate as her family. So, I hid her here."

Vincent blushed a little as he realised just how weak he sounded, but Rayman thought otherwise.

"That was really brave of ya Vincent, hiding her away right under Razoff's huge nose," Rayman encouragingly exclaimed and looked at the creature actually staring back at him from her position in Vincent's arms. Thoughtlessly, he added as a mutter, "Didn't know ya had it in ya."

She was no bigger than a football and was covered completely in soft, indigo coloured fur, all except for her face that was furless and pale skin. She had two long, stripy antennae that consisted of pale blue and white stripes. Also, she had two petite wings attached to her back. Rayman noticed that she had a glossy pink ribbon tied around her neck that connected into a bow at the back; it really made her look cute coupled with her huge and shiny black eyes. Rayman was beginning to wonder why the species was called the 'Ugly' seeing how cute this one in particular was.

"Does she have a name?" Rayman enquired. Vincent inwardly smiled at just how curious Rayman always was.

"I called her...Bow," Vincent murmured and rubbed the back of his head embarrassedly. "Since she loves wearing them."

The Ugly squeaked cutely at recognising her name, "Bow, Bow!"

Rayman laughed full heartedly. He truly had not expected her to suddenly speak like that. One thing could be certain, today was just full of surprises. One included the encounter of Bow, the cute Ugly.


	10. Tell Me A Story

Tell Me A Story

The night fell quiet, hardly a breeze stirring the shrivelled willows of the Bog of Murk. It was calm and peaceful, but Rayman fidgeted restlessly in his bed as he longed to gaze at the Twin Moons and remember _her _face. He could not forget why he came here. He had come here in search of a way to bring his beloved friend back. He...he needed to escape.

Waiting long into the night for that mysterious 'Being' to come once more and free him loose was unfruitful...for it never came. A disappointed snort escaped his nose against his will, he should have known. Perhaps it never appeared to those who wanted it, or to those who waited. Had his long waiting hours purely been in vain?

Sighing, he began to tap the sole of his shoe against the wooden frame of the bottom of the bed, blue eyes sharp as they stared at the ceiling in unease. In putting his hands behind his head, he glared harder at the dark cellar stone above as if wishing to mentally peel it away to reveal the dark of the night instead. Strangely enough, he had not slept properly since arriving here, lying awake deep into every night despite his exhaustion. Tonight was no exception it seemed, and his heart sadly dropped into a pool of bitterness.

"Are you alright?"

Rayman jolted and bolted upright with a gasp. He blinked at Vincent laying on his stomach beneath the bed sheet of his own bed just a metre away; face its usual expressionless mask...yet those emerald eyes glistening in silent concern. The other was watching him with timidly intent eyes. However, even though lined with tiredness, those eyes held a subdued curiosity.

"Can't sleep either, huh?" Rayman whispered, groaning whilst taking his pillow and leaning it against the headrest before scooting back to rest against it. He pulled the sheet up to his lap and clasped his hands against his slowly breathing chest. "Something on your mind?"

Vincent muttered, "I-I am not too sure."

The Guardian cocked his head to the side slightly, golden hair twitching in his own curiosity. 'Not too sure?' Was Vincent having an internal struggle with a lost memory? The other did seem a little distressed beneath the expressionless barricade on his face. Rayman's eyes stared at the shy one's twiddling thumbs with pure patience in half lidded eyes.

"Vincent?"

"Y-Yes?"

"You wanna hear a story?"

Vincent became wide awake in an instant. The shy one raised an eyebrow at him for the proposal. Rayman remained impassive, staring off into space as if something was plaguing his mind too.

"You mean...like a bedtime story?" Vincent questioned, still a little unsure by the other's request.

Rayman chuckled happily at the other, golden hair bouncing over his eyes. Vincent just nervously swallowed.

When his laughter had died down, Rayman's eyes opened to reveal their now sparkling blue brilliance in the semi-darkness. In shuffling a little to get himself comfortable, Vincent lifted his head fully off the pillow to curiously listen when he detected that the other was, indeed, going to tell him something.

"Considering ya have no memories, I've gotta broad knowledge on the Deities of our realm if ya want to hear a tale on them? I have a story, or more like a legend, that's to do with the Goddesses and Gods of our world...if ya care to hear it that is?"

The other's aura seemed to flicker slightly and Rayman smiled at distinguishing a sense of interest in Vincent. As usual, Vincent stared at Rayman's clasped hands rather than meeting his eyes when he began to speak of the legend.

"This is a story from long ago, before time itself and the world had even established a place in this reality. It is a tale of the Goddesses anger, selfishness and self sacrifice, a tale of a sacrificial punishment that was heard generation after generation in the form of a legend...

**At the beginning of time itself, before the world was created, there were five Goddesses. These were also known as the Elemental Nymphs: Betilla the Forest Nymph, Annetta the Ocean Nymph, Helena the Mountain Nymph, Holly the Sound Nymph and Edith the Fire Nymph. All of them were blood sisters and the daughters of the great mighty Polokus that is the sole determiner and creator of the world. **

**However, there were also two children Goddess sisters—twins—named Faith and Hope, that Polokus kept by his side. Both were completely white like beautiful pearl with lovely long hair that touched their waists, their eyes magically pupil-less and white. They had been created by Polokus from elements from another realm and were seen as his adopted twin daughters.**

**Joining in harmony, the five Goddess sisters created the planet. Helena formed the earth to walk upon and when the planet had been formed she died as the mountains of our world. With the base of the planet formed, Edith cut her own wrists and allowed her blood to seep into the earth. Her fire aligned blood formed the lava core of our world and gave it the volcanoes that represent a new beginning. When her blood was fully drained her physical body disintegrated to dust which formed the desserts. Her remaining soul burst into a powerful ball of flame, lifting to the sky as our sun that gives us light and heat everyday. **

**With the two main bases formed, the remaining sisters filled their creation with life. Annetta, as emotional as she was, cried tears for her two lost sisters. She cried and cried, slowly forming the oceans, rivers and streams of the new world. When she could shed no more tears, she vanished, but occasionally tears still fall in the form of rain when sadness consumes her once again. But when anger is merged with her misery, it creates the lightning and the storms that pass over the land—Annetta was the creator of both water and weather. **

**Everything needed for life had been established: warmth, sunlight, water and earth. It was then Polokus' eldest daughter, Betilla, weaved her magic to create the nature of the planet. Her magical threads wove in different patterns, each different pattern giving birth to a brand new species of plant. Trees sprouted from the ground at rapid speeds, leafy vines grew and weaved, lush grass covered the rocky earth previously created by her sister and finally beautiful flowers filled the world with a mixture of colour far beyond the imagination. However...Betilla did not die like her sisters.**

**Polokus was proud so far with the creation of his daughters and kept in spiritual contact with their souls even when they were grounded by their new forms. He held the new creation in his very hands, like a fragile crystal, pondering on the sensation that something was very much missing. At realising the emptiness of the world he realised there needed to be creatures, animals, things that moved. He fell into a deep sleep and dreamed, dreamed of creatures big and small, each dream giving life to a brand new living creature on the new creation. He even had nightmares too ghastly to see, and unintentionally created Jano, a monster he assigned the job of guarding the nightmares and demons of the world. He became Jano, the Guardian of the Cave of Bad Dreams.**

**There was now life and creatures of different levels of beauty and size, but there was**_** still**_** something important missing...everything was completely silent. It was then the final and youngest sister, Holly the Sound Nymph, gifted the planet with her part. She took a deep breath and breathed across the planet, her breath blowing down the throats of the newly born animals of the world. All at once, a mighty chorus of different sounds, quiet and loud, small and long, harsh and musical, were bestowed to the living. Her breath gave more to them than a voice however, as some gained intelligence and learned how to speak to each other in what Holly named 'languages.' Her gift to the world was diversity as eventually the attributes of talent and intelligence were revealed. With her final breath sighed, she became one with the winds that flow over the lands.**

"Ya still with me?" Rayman chuckled.

Vincent was wide awake and listening with interested eyes. He had sat up, wrapping the bed sheet around his shoulders, purely mesmerised by the legend that Rayman was telling to him. He was lost in his own imagination as he pictured the story of these Goddesses. Rayman was a really good story teller.

"I am, please continue. I want to know more."

Rayman gave him a caring smile from his position in his bed, secretly contemplating how it must be around midnight by now. He had not moved since he had started the story and was beginning to get drowsy where he sat.

With yawn filled with content, no irritation, Rayman continued, "For thousands of years everything was perfect...

**Until the blood daughters suddenly broke out in disdainful mutiny against one another. All were ordered furiously by Polokus to travel to the Hall of Doors to settle this disgraceful argument, which is a court between the realms that is run by his loyal servants—the Teensies. All five sisters sat at a round diamond table encrusted with jewels in the court as the arguments worsened. Four of them were transparent spirits as their physical forms had been lost, whilst the other remaining one was still solid as she was still alive.**

"**I created the terrain itself!**_** I**_** did the biggest part!" Helena screamed and pointed at her fire sister, Edith.**

"**You? Hark, don't make me laugh sister!" Was Edith's jazzy voice before she slammed a hand to the table. Her eyes were ablaze in disgust. "Hello girls, **_**I **_**did the biggest part. Without me the creatures would die without their sun!"**

"**T-That's not true," Spoke the tearful voice of Annetta. "**_**I **_**played the largest part by f-far; the plants and animals would die without my water. Some even live in it. I suffered more than **_**all**_** of you in creating my part too."**

"**Suffered more, SUFFERED MORE!" Edith roared. Annetta flinched. "Girl, I slit my wrists and bled to death for **_**my **_**part!"**

"_**I **_**suffered more than all of you, I had to breathe out all of my air to give the world its voices—I suffocated!" Holly interjected. She was the youngest yet loudest of the five Goddess sisters. "**_**I**_** played the biggest part as without me there would be no intelligence on this planet, they would all be brainless shells like the rest of you!"**

**The hot tempered Edith sharply stood up. "How dare you, Pipe-Mouth!"**

**Holly followed suit, voice making the glasses of water shatter. "Shut up, Fatso!"**

**Annetta fearfully raised from her seat too. "I...I—"**

"**Oh for Father's sake, shut up you cry baby," Edith pointed to her Ocean Nymph sister who was beginning to cry again. "Girl, you've got to be the most **_**pathetic**_** out of all of us!"**

**Polokus watched solemnly from the sidelines at his daughters, the two twin sisters named Faith and Hope by his sides. He shook his head at the scene and the loud ruckus his children were making—he had never seen such selfishness. His eyes turned to Betilla who had been sitting coolly throughout the argument.**

**Betilla sighed. She calmly stood up from her seat, strong and true, the only one not a spirit like her other brethren as she had not died for her part. Every single sister froze at the sound of her chair screeching quietly against the floor. The tension was tangible as they all stared at the eldest.**

**With her emerald eyes filled with wisdom, Betilla stated in dismay, "Sisters, my sisters...do you truly believe that one of us did more than the other in the creation of **_**our **_**world? Each one of us played an equal part—we need each others elements for balance."**

**Edith snarled and with a mere flick of her wrist her glass chair flew across the room—shattering into millions of shards. She stomped towards Betilla, who merely stared calmly into her younger sister's eyes. The anger in those amber eyes almost took her aback—**_**almost.**_

"**You," Edith hissed in pure hatred and distrust. "You've no right to talk here, girl...you're still alive..."**

**Betilla felt a tendril of fear...the other sisters were looking to each other in agreement. Polokus narrowed his eyes at feeling the atmosphere turn hostilely cold.**

**The Fire Nymph turned with a flourish of flame to her other sisters, turning her back on the startled Betilla.**

"**Sisters, **_**my **_**sisters, all of my **_**dead**_** sisters, can you even look at this girl in the eye?! Look at her! She remains alive whilst we suffered and died! Is that fair, my sisters? Should she roam free whilst we are grounded by our parts? I say she should join us!—I say**_** kill**_** her!"**

**Chairs were thrown back harshly with resounding screeches. Betilla's heart ran icy cold as all of her once beloved sisters were suddenly stalking towards her in agreement. Her eyes widened and she screamed in fear when she dodged a spike of sharp crystal from her sister, Helena. When forced to fly her fairy wings were thrown off course by a summoned wind from Holly. She was thrown into the fragile glass wall. The thunderous crash she made as she shattered the crystal and her pleas were ignored by her sisters as they all took flight to hunt her down. **

**Never had Polokus seen such anger. **

**Covered in cuts that furiously bled, Betilla began to cry tears of sorrow. How had it come to this? She scurried to her feet in pure fright and ran through the court. **

"That is..." Vincent breathed, his voice gentle and quiet like a mouse. "That is horrible. How could they possibly treat their own family that way? It breaks my heart a little."

Rayman gave him a sympathetic smile. "But that wasn't even the worst part...

**In escaping the Hall of Doors, Betilla flew as fast as she could to the world she and her sisters had previously created. She flew for all she was worth, the blood dripping from her wounds staining her created grass with the memory of betrayal. The forest where she had been living for thousands of years was her refuge...but it did not feel safe anymore. Deep down, she knew with all her fearful heart that her spiritual sisters would try to pry her out.**

**And they all did attempt—heartlessly.**

**For months there was no rain from Annetta and the forest began to die. The sun was burning brighter and hotter than ever in the clear sky, representing Edith's pure loathing for her hiding sister. On some days, the wind would blow so violently through the trees that poor Betilla was forced to hold onto her dying nature in order to prevent being blown out of her own element. Because of the hatred towards Betilla, the horrors of drought, natural forest fires, hurricanes and tornadoes consumed the world. All at a hefty price...for the creatures began to suffer.**

**Polokus was enraged. As a Being of creation, he heard the desperate pleas of the planet's creatures. He heard the creatures of the planet scream for mercy and plead for a better life—assuming they had done something wrong. He heard the children crying for lost family from the tornadoes that tore their villages, heard them cough from the droughts in despair, heard them yell to the skies for an end to this nightmare. But Polokus would not interfere with his daughters monstrous behaviour, for he believed that they had to settle this on their own—despite the sacrifice.**

**However, Polokus felt strongly for Betilla. He sent one of the twin sisters, Hope, down to the forest to bestow his eldest daughter with a secret gift. **

**Night only just descended when Hope appeared in a beautiful flash of pearly light deep within the forest. There Betilla sat, sobbing, looking worn, torn and exhausted.**

"**Dear Betilla, oh innocent Betilla, our father has blessed you with a wondrous gift," The child sang in her angelic voice, her powers to give hope coursing through Betilla like a flaming phoenix. "Our father has taken some of his own powers...and is blessing you with them. Take care of them and they will take care of you. Please be safe, and always have hope."**

**The pure white child shining like crystal placed her tiny hands together and within them a strange glowing ball of silver was formed. It floated to Betilla, making her gasp as the power it released within her was overwhelming. When it had been completely absorbed into her heart, she looked to her younger adopted sister.**

"**You have been blessed with the power of 'creation,' just like our Father. You can now create creatures yourself and have the power to determine the fate of the world. You can give creation as well as take it. The power given to you remains yours, but there is one catch: when you use your powers to kill another soul...you will become mortal. Good luck my big sister."**

**With that, the magical child Goddess of Hope faded away, vanishing back to Polokus. Betilla clenched her fists—she knew what she had to do.**

**For days she put her new power to use. She weaved and knitted, cut and sowed magical threads together in her mystical palms. At times a forest fire from Edith forced Betilla to halt the creation process. Time was short and the creatures of the planet were in desperate need. **

**At long last, she finally succeeded in creating a living breathing creature of her own. The ball of pure energy she had formed exploded into several silver Lums. Each one hovered for a moment, glowing with magic, until they began to take shape. A head was formed, then a body, then hands, then feet. Using abilities that only Holly should possess, Betilla gave him intelligence to develop his own personality and talents. As she touched above his heart she had only one final thing left to do—assign him his destiny. **

"**Young one, I, your mother creator, have given you life. Your destiny is to protect this world at all costs when you finally awaken and to always fight for the greater good and justice—For you are this planet's only hope."**

**She named him...the Guardian.**

Rayman suddenly paused with a shaky exhale of breath. He was deadly still as the tension began to grow unbearable. A horrid cold chill had suddenly entered his heart. It spread through his veins, tingled against his skin with shivers. Closing his eyes for a moment, he did not see Vincent cock his head in oblivious concern.

"Is...something wrong? If you do not want to continue that is—

"No," Rayman interrupted sternly, hand in the air. "I must finish this."

_I must finish this, for Ly's sake..._

**Finally, after months of hiding in the forest, Betilla stepped out of the trees and revealed herself. The night was young as all of a sudden the Fire Nymph floated down from the dark sky. Edith's soul was transparent, no longer needed to be the sun. She drifted down to the open clearing where Betilla stood in waiting. As soon as Edith touched the ground, she magically made her body solid for the oncoming fight. There they stood metres apart—face to face.**

"**So, girl, you've finally appeared from the forests you have cowered within. Now is the time to seal your fate—face me!"**

**Betilla and Edith slowly began to encircle each other like prowling beasts. Betilla's tone was deadly quiet as she spoke, "I am afraid you are mistaken, dear sister." Betilla drew out a crystal dagger from her green clothing. It glinted in the light—merciless. Her eyes glinted as sharp as her blade. "It is not **_**my**_** fate that shall be sealed."**

**Edith growled like the fiery lion she was. In rage, she drew her own double daggers, their blades as black as the night. A roar of fury left her lips, "I will watch you burn!"**

**Native Teensies suddenly appeared out of nowhere, surrounding the clearing. All looked worse for wear from the natural disasters the Goddess sisters had struck the land with. They all began to clap, a beat in the night—the sound calling the Sound Nymph Holly forth. They all stomped the ground, a vibration through the earth—calling the Mountain Nymph Helena forth. They all did the rain dance—summoning the Ocean Nymph Annetta forth. All three of the summoned spirits appeared, all behind the hundreds of Teensies creating the rhythm for the fight. One stood in the East, one in the West and one in the South, the North being now stood in by Edith. In the centre of it all, Betilla narrowed her eyes at her opponent. The beat echoed throughout the night, each clap a step of the duelling Goddesses.**

**The Teensies all chanted for Betilla as the two enemy sisters approached each other with eyes as sharp as steel, their faithful and hopeful chanting calling the twin Goddess children to the world. The two pearl-like children hovered above the fight scene, gaining strength from the chants. The board was set to fight.**

**With one dagger to her sisters two, Betilla subconsciously gripped her blade tighter. Edith smirked evilly at her sister's hesitance to attack.**

**Edith roared, "Attack me, fool!"**

**Betilla was left unprepared as suddenly Edith lunged towards her. Betilla yelped and leant backwards, eyes wide when the razor blade stabbed the air—centimetres from her face. Growling, she did a roundhouse kick that struck her sister dead-on in the face. Edith yelled out in pain, staggering back. Gracefully hand-standing, Betilla pushed off the ground, flipping over her sister. On landing she spun. Her dagger slicing—**

**Clang! Blades collided. Edith had whipped around as fast as lightning to block it. With superior power she pushed the dagger forward, throwing Betilla back. With a glare, Betilla back flipped and immediately side-stepped when the other dagger vertically sliced. Both opponents had missed.**

**Both Edith's blades sliced in a vicious 'X.' Betilla rolled to the side to avoid it. Her momentum allowed her a horizontal slice. Edith shrilly screamed, a neat cut bled across her waist. Betilla did a one handed cartwheel and flipped away. She raised her blood tipped blade, smirking. Edith was powerful, but she was more agile.**

**Gritting her teeth, Edith began to circle once again. Betilla followed suit. They crept around each other, bodies low in a prowl—waiting. **

**The three other Elemental Nymphs started to cheer for the Fire Nymph. In turn, the Teensies chanted louder for Betilla. This was not just a duel of the Goddesses—this was a war—a war for the world!**

**Powerfully leaping through the air, Edith held her daggers overhead. Betilla growled—she had no time to avoid it. Bracing her blade she defended it head on. The force behind Edith made it impossible to guard. Betilla cried out when she was thrown to the ground. **

**Slicing apart her blades, Edith gleefully watched the shock on her sister's face. The clang of metal resounded as Betilla's only weapon was struck from her grasp. The blade flew. A heart wrenching thud echoed as it landed in the dirt.**

**Beneath Edith, Betilla struggled to get away. The Teensies clapped faster, chanted louder, stomped the ground harder. The three other blood sisters called for victory. Smiling at her supporting sisters, Edith lifted both daggers above her head, ready to finish this. The twin Goddess children, Hope and Faith, began to secretly channel the power from the Teensies support to Betilla.**

**Without warning the ground around Betilla began to shake. It was unnoticed by the fire sister. Edith sneered—stabbing down her blades. In her rage she did not notice Betilla's unsettling grin. The next moves were so fast everyone could barely register it.**

**All of a sudden, vines tore from the ground, whipping at the opposing blades. The vines suddenly grasped Edith's wrists. The descending blades were forced to halt—millimetres from piercing flesh. Betilla suddenly grinned and vanished into the ground, the leafy vines dragging her down. The vines around the blades retreated. Two black daggers abruptly pierced the empty ground.**

"**Behind you, sister!" Holly called.**

**In utter fright Edith spun around. Amber eyes widened. Betilla shot out from the earth behind her, body encircled in pulsing undergrowth. Her body was glowing green—her eyes a luminous lime in the darkness. Elegantly lifting a hand, the Forest Nymph summoned a vine to swipe her missing crystal blade back. The plant swiftly flung the blade to her awaiting palm. It spun in slow motion through the air, reflecting Edith's shocked expression, before being caught effortlessly by the eldest sister's fingers.**

**Gripping the dagger, Betilla lunged forward. At that same moment, Edith yanked out her blades from the ground, pirouetted—**

**An unearthly scream of pain pierced the air as crimson blood splattered the ground. There were audible gasps...then purely shocked silence.**

**There Edith stood; faltering from a knife stabbed cleanly through her heart, point sticking sickeningly from her back. The tip of Betilla's crystal blade dripped murderous blood. The blade that had been purposely stabbed at Betilla had merely pierced slightly through her side—missing the killing blow. Hissing in discomfort, Betilla knew what she had to do...this had to be finished.**

"**Hope, Faith, come forth!" Betilla mightily ordered, voice echoing with power. "I summon thee by my side...for the end."**

**Obediently, because of Polokus' gift to Betilla, the two twins floated down to her without hesitation. Edith gaped in shock at the scene.**

"**Dear Betilla, we have been building power from your supporters. It is time to put an end to Edith," The twins stated in unison.**

**Immediately, the two Goddess children channelled the pure energy they had built up into their hands. The twins glow was blinding, tenderly touching Betilla's shoulders: one channelling in the power of hope and the other the power of faith. The surrounding Teensies were growing louder and louder—sensing an end. **

"**W-What are you doing? Where did you gain such powers?!" Edith screamed as, from the power growing in Betilla, a gale ferociously whipped up. **

**The vines grew leafier, greener, and richer around Betilla's slender form. They wrapped around her, glowing brighter and brighter as the children channelled more and more of their power into her own. Forcefully, she grabbed Edith's shoulder with her spare hand to prevent her moving. Once lime eyes became pure white. The surrounding Teensies shielded their eyes as the stormy gale grew stronger in the clearing.**

"**By the Power of Creation bestowed upon me," Betilla's voice was strong and true, echoing in the windy clearing. "I create you as the sun—nothing more. You are no longer a part of the Goddess realm, or a part of our Father's daughters. You are no longer my sister. You are merely the sun of this world and I create you as nothing more!"**

**As soon as those words had been spoken, Edith felt herself fading away. But she was not going to go without some final words.**

"**I-I swear a final oath, Betilla. I curse your des-descendents, curse your future children. Your bloodline will abruptly end...be it a thousand or a h-hundred years from now. The power will consume them, that-that descendent will destroy this world with my revengeful flames...your efforts h-have been...in vain...you have...failed..."**

**Betilla's heart pounded in her chest, a signal that after murdering Edith she was now mortal from her new powers one condition. Edith seemed to disintegrate in her hands into a glittering dust, an ironically beautiful dust despite everything as it drifted to the blackness of the night above. Tomorrow would be the first day that Edith would rise for the first time as merely an inanimate phenomenon. **

**Betilla stared at her feminine shaking hands, watching her fingers tremble in building fear. Her eyes appeared distraught as all sounds faded from existence in her ears. The cheers of the overjoyed Teensies were lost to her.**

_**That descendent will destroy this world.**_

_**You have...failed...**_

"**Silence!" Betilla cried, voice cracking when tears stung her eyes. How could she have still failed?**

**Everyone feel deadly silent, confused at her distress. The Teensies whispered to each other in concern as, grasping her still bleeding side, Betilla stood straighter with broken pride. The twins floated around her caringly, both young yet understanding why she was so upset.**

"**Well done, my eldest."**

**Every voice, young and old, wary and relieved, gasped in cheerful amazement. Everyone turned and bowed, all except Betilla, when Polokus appeared. His other blood daughters cowered in fear on the sidelines at their Father's presence as he shot them a glare. "You three leave, now."**

**Without hesitation, the other three Goddess daughters of Polokus vanished, souls fleeing for their grounding elements of the planet.**

**Betilla emotionlessly watched them go before turning miserably to Polokus, to her Father. "Father, how can you say that? Edith used the last of her powers to swear an oath—to curse me. You know that a Goddess' curse can not be prevented...it becomes a prophecy."**

**Polokus' eyes sparkled with comforting warmth. "There is still hope, my child."**

"**How?" Betilla whispered in despair, meeting eyes with her all-powerful Father. Her voice was tinged in a shame she should honestly not be experiencing after such a victory.**

"**A Goddess' curse can not be stopped, as you say. **

**However, it can be led astray, **

**And countered by another curse that way," Polokus informed, eyes glancing to the two twin children hovering over his daughter's shoulders.**

**Polokus beckoned the two to him with a gnarled finger, "Hope and Faith...come forth."**

**The pearly children instantly came with curious expressions.**

"**My two adopted daughters, you mean just as much to me as my blood daughters. I am afraid I must ask a favour that is irreversible. I hope you come to forgive me."**

**The twins glanced to each other in unison, before curiously titling their heads in silent question to their Father.**

**A powerful breeze swept up when Polokus slowly raised his arms to his two adopted daughters. Such power tingled through the air, yet it was calm and warm, as soothing as the early dawn now approaching.**

**Everyone's eyes watched in wonder as he bellowed, "I, Polokus, creator of all, summon the Goddess twins—Hope and Faith—to become beacons of their elements to this world. Let them shine in people's darkest hours, let them be wished upon by creatures who long for a dream, let them always be a symbol that others can gaze upon and retrieve hope and faith from.**

"**A prophecy was said today by the previous Goddess Edith, previous Fire Nymph of this planet...I counter this with one of my own. Let the threads of time unravel, let the unstoppable events occur. However, when the time comes for the now mortal Betilla's descendent to destroy the world in flame, let the twins Hope and Faith shine down on that descendent and take her from the mortal world. The world shall be spared, and the descendent taken to the twins."**

**As those loud and powerful words echoed throughout the clearing, the two twins began to laugh joyously. Their laughs reverberated on the gentle breeze blowing around the area and gently tugged at their surroundings, softly lacing through Betilla's beautiful hair...calming. They began to glow, brighter and brighter, their pearly forms shining like pure diamonds. Betilla shielded her eyes and stared in awe as the two suddenly shot to the night like stunning shooting stars. Everything suddenly flashed white, before the childish laughs finally ceased. **

**No one was prepared for what they saw when they gradually opened their eyes to view the skies.**

**Up in the sky, side by side, were two breathtaking crescent moons. They were as white and glowing as they had been when they were Goddesses, their moonlight as pearly as their skin had been. Never had Polokus seen such willing self sacrifice. **

**Polokus named them the Twin Moons.**

"And so, that's the end," Rayman concluded, now so exhausted from his detailed story telling that he was practically passing out. He let out one final yawn and closed his eyes to recover for a moment.

"Wow, that was a great story," Vincent shyly approved. "I never knew that the Twin Moons were actually Goddesses."

Rayman cracked a tired eye open at suddenly noticing that Vincent sounded much, _much_ closer than before. He blinked in surprise at finding that the other had miraculously moved at some point in his story to sit on his bed without him noticing, his own bed sheet still draped childishly around his shoulders. However, Rayman did not mind at all and only gave a small smile to his black and blue counterpart.

"You are an amazing story teller," Vincent nervously stated, fiddling timidly with his scarf. His emerald eyes suddenly seemed unfocused for a moment. "Rayman?"

"Hmm?"

"What happened to Betilla's creation, the Guardian?"

Rayman suddenly stiffened, which was unfortunately noticed by Vincent. There was a lengthy silence that was severely tense, but Vincent could not understand why. It seemed Rayman was deciding his words as he swallowed harshly, opened his eyes, and stared at his still clasped hands on his chest.

"I don't know, still hasn't awakened to protect the world I suppose," He lied.

Vincent cocked his head to the side at realising for the first time that the roles were reversed—Rayman would not meet his eyes. Was it something he had said? He truly hoped not since he was already feeling guilty.

Giving Rayman a hollow smile, Vincent yawned and gradually got up to go to his own bed to finally sleep. Rayman felt the bed tilt back up when Vincent's small weight vanished and he inwardly sighed in relief.

In absolute fatigue, he pulled the pillow to the mattress from the wooden headboard and threw his head back against the lush object. The fact that he was in a cellar bed did not seem to affect him at the moment.

Before Rayman fell asleep, since the story he had told was still fresh in his mind, a single thought smoothly sounded:

_Ly was that descendent, Ly was Betilla's descendent._


	11. How The Past Is A Curse

How The Past Is A Curse

**Fields of gold sway in breezes unfelt, winds so mysterious, so mellow, yet it catches our hair as we walk together side by side.**

**It seems so peaceful, calm, and warm here in this peculiar land, almost too good to be true, almost seeming a heart breaking fake and nothing more than a dream. Is this merely just that, a dream? A dream against my harsh reality? Where am I exactly? All I know is this sense of utter desperateness that chews away at my insides. I**_** need**_** to know. It is ever so slowly murdering my soul from the inside out, tearing my stupidly lingering heart apart.**

**Sometimes…trying to hold on as tight as you can to something you know you will never reach…burns more than any physical flame. For that is why, right now, I am hurting as much as I am in this false paradise.**

**White. The sky is such a blinding white, forcing me to squint as my feet not under my control press on through these grass blades of summer gold. I frown at how the sky is just not there for me to see anymore...as if it meant nothing to me back then and now lay forgotten by time. Oh, such sickening guilt tugs at my stomach for such a thing. How I painfully regret not remembering the innocent blues of the horizon so long ago—back when I was fine, friendly and free.**

**A smile lights my lips, an actual **_**smile**_**, in utter conflict with how I feel at present. I have no control over what is going on: hopeless, helpless, hurt from within. But I feel that horrid smile remaining upon my lips as I turn to the person beside me. But there is something wrong with that figure...**

_**She**_** is blurry…I can no longer see her.**

**Her appearance is as lost to my mind as the clear skies that have long since faded from me. I feel my heart squeeze tightly. I ache, I ache too much, it purely **_**hurts.**_**Tears are building and I feel them—I can not take it! I know it is my twin sister, I recognise that confident chuckle that echoes through my head whilst her heart breaking blur runs onward a few paces away. But I just can not see her; can not make out those irises that should be just as deep an emerald as my own. And when my hand miserably reaches out to grasp her...**

**I choke up at how my memory's hand would rather remain by my side.**

**She is far from my reach. She always was.**

**I want to scream with my entire Being, just to cry, to call for her...if only I knew the name to call. Yet, my heart drops into my stomach's long since dug pit of grief, for I actually **_**laugh**_** instead and follow with that strange warmth in my chest that is making me panic. Too much feeling—too much! You will get hurt! Why is he not listening to me?! Scream for Heaven's sake! Call her back—call her—**

"**Remember, Vin. Do not try to find me."**

**I mentally clutched at my hair as my tears silently screamed my sorrow when the memory obliviously tilts his head. "But ... what if you do not come back from ... what if something happens?"**

**Those words muted by time, those key and monstrously significant words that I so long to hear...they heartlessly elude me. Oh, the utter **_**agony.**_** If emotions could kill, it was close to absorbing me whole like a fatal fly-trap. Waking up is all I desire now. Please, just answer my pleas. If I am refused to know the truth, then **_**please**_**do not taunt me with glimpses that I do not understand. I can not do this; I can not watch this-this **_**torture.**_** Why, why are you doing this to me? Why are you making me suffer? Please, just let me hear those words, please! What is your name? I would give anything just for a name, just to know my own twin's name.**

"**Vin, do not show weakness. You know I hate weakness."**

**I can only watch with an agonised heart as this faint outline of a lost memory turns to face me. There, just there amidst the blur of her black and blue; a smile that tears at my soul is barely visible. I can not watch this. But I am forced to, my past having already set the scene in stone as if a carver had etched it into the plaque of my memory.**

**These fields of sunny yellow mock me so. They are just too happy, too bright, too unforgiving. Or at least...I feel that way now. How I felt back then is just a faded memory…one that I can not grasp.**

**My ears prick to attention. Her voice is low and silky, uncanny to mine, yet I hear no traces of nervousness or shyness as she warns, "Do not follow me when the time comes for me to leave. No matter what happens, **_**stay away**_**. Do not try to find me—"**

"**But—"**

"**No, stay. This is something I must do," Her voice holds an undertone of danger, hostile. She never sounds timid; I figured that out a long time ago. She can be heartless, cold, distrusting, but she still holds dear to me. "Twin's we may be, and you are the only one I trust with all my Being, but I would not put you through what I have to go through. This is my task, my fate."**

"**W-Why not with all your heart?" I shyly stammered, unable to look anywhere apart from the boots I wear. Unseen, I raised an eyebrow at the strange desire for acceptance in my memory's words.**

**Long, blurry hair eerily flutters in a breeze, even though no wind truly blows. I shiver. It...it feels so haunting. Her pause does nothing if not give the haunting wind justice. And as her lips open to coldly speak my blood runs cold as if infected by it.**

"**...I have no heart to give."**

**The sudden desperateness in my memory is almost a blessing, the two of us**_** finally**_**falling on the same page. The previous happiness felt almost merciless. "Heavens, you talk as if you are never coming back."**

"**Hell, I probably will not be."**

**My head shoots up, eyes shimmering. "No!"**

**Everything all of sudden turns deadly black. I gasp from shock, my heart racing wildly. The memory, it just vanished. I feel fear gripping at the stiff chords of my heart, the strangled notes it plays frighten me. They seem to play a nocturne of shadow that's music outstretches gnarled claws to yank me down, they want me, want me swallowed by the darkness. Nothing. There is nothing here except darkness, no walls, no floors, no light—no safety. My eyes widen in pure fear. I just want to weep, just want to cry every tear of pain until an ocean swirled around my feet. I do the only thing my panicked mind can think of:**

**I ran.**

"_**Run, my child, run, I shall watch you flee,**_

_**Forever tracked and trapped by drifting dreams.**_

_**Run, run my key, to where you have to be,**_

_**Your fateful lock is not as frightful as it seems**_

_**As you draw ever closer to come and meet me.**_

_**Come forth, come forth, and find me."**_

**My feet are thundering against a ground unseen—loud enough to rival the beating in my ribs. I smell only dark coldness, the scent so thick with evil desire it literally oozes into my core...and I would swear I could literally feel it icily sink through my every pore.**

"_**Come, my child, seep closer through your bed,**_

_**To nightmares door and you, the dead,**_

_**To tangible ties of souls, words unsaid,**_

_**Until the fear feast of nightmares are fed.**_

_**Your destiny is not as frightful as it seems**_

_**As you draw ever closer to come and meet me.**_

_**Come forth, come forth, and accept me."**_

**A peculiar trance is gracing my mind. I hate that I can feel it, for it is slowly growing stronger. And throughout it all I sense a presence approaching me from behind. Against my will, my pace slackens, me nearly stumbling from the abruptness of it all. Such soothing words, such a comforting tone, yet like a father consorting his child. No, I must not stop, I have to keep going—I **_**must!**_** My breath hitches, I can feel it, I can feel it upon my shoulder, the presence's delicate fingers lightly tracing through my clothing to my skin: quiet, gentle, sinister...tenderly reassuring.**

**I fearfully scream as loud as I can and bolt for it, for a conflicting dread is also building deep within me. What is this? **_**Who**_** is this? Why am I so helpless?**

**I feel that silent presence behind me effortlessly follow.**

"_**Faster, my child, faster I see you come,**_

_**Forever cursed by my deceitful charms**_

_**And until those mournful monsters of your mind are undone**_

_**Faster and faster you will fall into my awaiting arms.**_

_**I am your nightmares; I am your dreams,**_

_**You being my key is not as terrible as it seems.**_

_**Come forth, come forth, and unlock me.**_

_**Do not be afraid, my child, do not be afraid of me...**_

_**As you draw ever closer to setting me free."**_

**I hurriedly shake my head with a moan. That petrifying lullaby rings in my ears, echoes through this nothingness of a nightmare. I feel my mind prickle at how familiar it sounds to me. Darkness is all that consumes me. Misery is all that fills me. Frustration is all that ails. I begin crying, chillingly feeling that fragile bottle inside of me filled to breaking point with emotions...crack. The prospect of it exploding horrifies me. Where am I? Who am I? Who is my sister? What was our purpose, what did she have to do? What do**_** I**_** have to do?!**

"**I DO NOT KNOW!" My hopeless yell harshly pierces the murdering melody stabbing my heart. Tears flow, the bottle cracking further.**

"**Vincent...?"**

"_**Do not be afraid, my child, do not be afraid of me...**_

"**Vincent?"**

_**...As you draw ever closer to setting me free."**_

"**VINCENT?!"**

Startled, emerald eyes shot open. A gasp sharply echoed as Vincent bolted upright. The bed cover flew. His brain became thoughtless. Pupils shrunk—terrified.

Bow shrilly squeaked in sensing her owner's sudden surge of distress. In moments, she burst out from under Vincent's bed. However, her mighty squeak abruptly went silent when, as soon as she flew out, she got caught in the sweat dampened bed cover still drifting midair. A laugh bubbled from her when the sheet suddenly ensnared her, making her plummet to the floor. Only a tiny thud resounded at the bundle of Ugly and cloth hitting the ground.

Vincent clutched at his chest, an eyebrow nervously rising at feeling a thin layer of sweat dampening the cloth he gripped. Eyelids frightfully fluttered closed. Whether it was in relief or pure despair remained unknown. It was especially unreadable to the Guardian sitting beside him, his stern sapphires sharp in concern.

Vincent's heart thundered beneath his fingertips. There remained a familiar cavity deep within his chest where emptiness had viciously dug...and precious tears glittered in the corners of his eyes. Emptiness had dug in that same place over and over, again and again, like an excited dog desperate to devour a treat hidden beneath...and destroying the turf in the process. Why could it not just leave him alone, why could this hound of emptiness just not relent for change? A single tear slipped loose, twinkling upon his cheek, and he unintentionally whimpered in distress. He wished it could just remain empty to stop feeling the pain that accompanied it being filled and torn away once more. Such misery, such tragic and overpowering misery.

Strangely enough, he did not sense the other presence beside him, or feel familiar soothing fingers slightly rubbing his head. No, he is lost in the tear-breaking cage of loss. Vincent's gleaming eyes flowing with depression scrunched tightly shut before he suddenly cradled his knees, still not noticing Rayman's presence nor his alarmed expression.

The frightened one's breath hitched from bottled up tears. He felt so sick, just so inwardly _shattered._ Out of the blue, he hastily grabbed the scarf about his neck and the Guardian's eyes widened in fear, golden hair visibly drooping from worry. The nervous other was wringing the poor item so vigorously...that he was absolutely petrified that Vincent would strangle himself.

Still the newly awakened one did not notice his companion's presence sat beside him. Neither does Vincent notice how Rayman's hand refuses to leave his head, a thumb gently stroking his soft strands.

Not sure if it was a good idea to pry, Rayman decided to gently clear his throat anyway, "...Vincent?"

"AH!" Vincent cried out. He flinched on impulse, cutely covering his eyes in shock. Having not noticed Rayman beforehand, the sudden sound so close to his ear had made him jump.

The soft chuckle that broke from the Guardian made his golden locks shake slightly. _I hadn't intended to do that,_ He mentally face palmed, acknowledging that he should have known better. At spotting a shy glimpse of emerald peeping out from behind a concealing hand, he gave Vincent a genuinely apologetic smile shining as if it had a glow all of its own.

Rayman cooed, much to his pride's distaste and also Vincent's embarrassment, "Awww, Vincent. You alright? Ya gave me quite a scare. Ya seem to be talented in doing that, I wonder if that's your special skill."

"I-I am sorry. I do not mean to make you worry, I will try to stop that," Vincent softly whispered, muffled voice weaved with guilt and apology behind his palms. In confusion, Rayman cocked his head to the side with nothing if not sympathy on his face. "But, H-Heaven's Rayman, please do not..."

Vincent uneasily fell silent. Rayman felt his heart drop like a brick into his gut, his concern overwhelming. Something was wrong.

Normal cockiness escaped him when he hoarsely stated, "Vincent? Talk to me, are ya alright?"

"...H-Have you...got your hand on my head?"

Rayman internally froze up with deathly suddenness. He blinked, ever so slowly lifting his gaze: trailing up passed Vincent's silky scarf, over that pale blue face tinged with paleness, tracking up through the black bangs standing on end with shyness. Sure enough, just as he had done on his instinct to comfort, his palm still remained upon the other's head, fingers interlaced with black hair gently.

The struck-dumb expression plastered across his counterpart's face made Vincent secretly give another of his rare, hollow smiles. Once again, if Rayman had even been looking, he would have noticed that ever,_ ever_ so dim spark of emotion lingering there.

If Vincent could be capable of pinpointing the emotion, it perhaps would be happiness? He frowned ever so slightly to himself at not feeling entirely certain. Not knowing how to feel properly left such an obvious reaction.

Much to Rayman's own astonishment, words eluded him. He felt utterly speechless. "Oh, erm..."

Somehow, regardless of the awkward situation from his loss of words, he seemed unfazed. It evidently showed since he all of sudden grinned, causing Vincent to sweat nervously. Why did Rayman have such a cocky spark in his eye?

An answer occurred instantly. Vincent let out a gasp he could not withhold when his companion suddenly ruffled his hair with that same hand, grinning like a Cheshire cat the whole time. However, fondness sparkled in the happy gleam of his grin. The friendly action was not to tease, but rather to soothe the worries.

"R-Rayman!" Vincent groaned, monotone. Some hair fell loose from his ponytail where they drifted around to frame his face. Well, if Vincent did not have a bed-head before, he certainly acquired it now.

Rayman gave a little laugh which just caused Vincent to emotionlessly stare at the 'o' on the other's chest. It seemed his companion still would not meet eye contact with him. Rayman secretly chewed his inner cheek in uncertainly, would this timid other ever open up enough?

"Cover! Sheet!"

Rayman raised an eyebrow and darted his gaze to the floor. A grin slowly crept onto his lips at discovering Bow walking, completely blind, across the floor towards Vincent's bed with the material draping entirely over her. She was completely unseen whilst she moved beneath the bedcover over ten times her size.

Releasing a snigger he could not restrain, Rayman rolled his eyes in amusement at the playful creature. He then leant down to the bundle of cloth stumbling towards him with another of those room brightening smiles. Yet, as he lowered his hands to grab the Ugly who was happily giggling within the sheet, a groan of tiredness also escaped him. The tone of happy warmness ebbed away to negative tension. Stiffness from his lack of sleep was evident. But not only that...his upmost concern for Vincent was also evident: there, deep within the pools of his eyes, swimming there for all to see in those normally confident sapphire waters. That confidence had dulled somewhat to be replaced by outshining worry.

He sighed dejectedly, and as soon as he unravelled the sheet to release Bow, the Ugly joyfully flew around him in a circle and clapped her hands—as if to her it was some sort of game. She seemed oblivious to his current inner turmoil.

Vincent nervously watched the two in the corner of his eye, his hidden irritation from the recent manoeuvre subsiding swiftly. He could never feel agitated or annoyed for long, especially at Rayman. The confident other only cared about him, it seemed. However, he twiddled his fingers with a heavily guilty haze dulling his irises to a murky green. He could distinguish the concern in his partner like a cat can distinguish the difference of scents between a live mouse and merely a stuffed dead one—between reality and a lie. Who could not? It was there like an open book in Rayman's face for any stranger to read. No matter how he tried to avoid it, the oncoming conversation was inevitable. It made him swallow from nerves. He knew what was coming before the words even echoed throughout the stone cellar.

Rayman's pupils glinted in strict determination. "Vincent?"

Said person shakily breathed, "Y-Yes?"

"...You are like this every night. Tossing and turning and crying out in your sleep, that is. Are you having nightmares? Or are you...struggling with memories?" The Guardian muttered whilst running a hand through his hair exhaustedly. The action had no heart to it, and a few stray strands of blonde stuck out at different angles. The once egotistic sweep of his golden locks had descended to a tired one.

Vincent felt a little intrigued at how the other strangely sounded older for the briefest of moments...and at how he spoke _normally_ for a change. The _'you's'_ were perfectly pronounced—showing how serious he must be.

_No doubt Razoff will be coming to unlock the cellar in a couple of hours_, Rayman thought to himself as he stared off into nothingness. In other words he had to be quick—or risk Vincent avoiding the conversation altogether. And he knew for a fact that the shyer character would attempt to at all costs. But he just did not want Vincent to suffer unnecessarily.

"Yes—no...perhaps. I-I am not so sure. M-Maybe both? I must say I am truly sorry if I keep waking you up, it-it is never intentional," The sufferer stuttered. Rayman grimaced at feeling his heart clench when detecting nervous trembles wracking his friend's spine.

"Vincent, ya can't stop a _nightmare," _The comforter exclaimed in exasperation, fidgeting on the edge of the mattress so that he was closer to the other. Vincent just continued staring at his twiddling fingers. However, he still flinched timidly when Rayman accidently brushed his shoulder with his own. "But ya can talk about it. Maybe I can help ya unravel a memory."

"You can not help me."

Rayman was taken aback by how blunt the statement had been. No emotion, no hope, no faith underlined those words. The supporting beam of that statement was utter despondence. A hefty sigh left him, before suddenly lying down beside Vincent much to the other's surprise, placing his hands lazily behind his head and staring at the chains above. He watched one sway, back and forth, clinking and clinking, back and forth, lost in the realm of his own thoughts. You could say Rayman was thoughtless, you could say he thought too much—both were undeniably true. And right now, he acknowledged that he was thinking too much, wanting nothing more than to the break the bird of Vincent free from his cage, the very cage Vincent had locked himself away in. He just laid there on Vincent's still-warm bed and contemplated. Do you know what happens when you lock your heart away for so long? The padlock you yourself placed over it becomes rusted, becomes tough, near impossible to open. And if you just leave that vicious lock long enough...you will never be able to pry open that lock sealing your heart away ever again. The horrible aspect of this is that when this does occur—and it is inevitable, because it will against all odds—you lose all sense of the person you were before you locked it away. To you...nothing is different. That is the most heartbreaking thing to those surrounding you who watch you fall: you have no idea it is even happening. Yet, deep in that jammed cage you have pushed it away in, your heart is ever so painfully slowly dying away. Hair drooped to obscure half lidded eyes in pure sadness. Rayman feared, with all his heart, that Vincent had started the steps towards this very outcome...

"Rayman?" Vincent suddenly asked, his voice smooth and as nervous as always. It made the glaze in the other's eyes refocus as his thoughts were interrupted.

Rayman exhaled in relief, before beaming to him with a grin. "Yep?"

"...Do you think...I am a bad person?"

The Guardian choked on air in that moment and shot bolt upright. Where the hell had that question come from? Vincent nearly screamed when Rayman was face to face with him in moments, the massive explosion of fire in his pupils like a volatile bomb. It was near terrifying as Rayman growled low in his throat. It did not help how Vincent got nervous with close contact with other's either.

"Never, _ever,_ say that Vincent. You're innocent; you couldn't be evil even if you tried. Your heart is pure despite what you may think of yourself and I'm not going to let you drag it into the shadows just because of how that blasted Hunter has dragged you down. You_are_ innocent, trust me on this one."

"Trust! Trust!" Bow squeaked. She affectionately flew over to sit perfectly upon Vincent's head, tenderly playing with the black strands not unlike how a certain Rayman's thumb previously had.

Rayman contentedly watched the scene with that special shining smile of his, _Because, Vincent, as Guardian I can sense the evils in the hearts and souls of every creature in this world..._

_And yours holds not a single shred._

A yawn loudly escaped the cockier one of the two, and it caught the just-as-tired Vincent off guard. Tilting his head in an almost adorable fashion, Vincent's eyelids exhaustedly drooped in a tiredness to match the other. It seemed that after Rayman's exciting story earlier both had gained very little sleep, and what sleep was obtained had been restless—physically and mentally useless.

Rayman quietly sighed whilst tentatively fiddling with his hood's rope cords, the sound ringing through the silent cellar. He carefully averted his gaze from Vincent. Those sapphire pools seemed ever so deep as he looked away into nothing, staring through half-lidded eyes, placing one invisible leg casually over the other, masculine chin resting tiredly upon his palm as he sat beside his companion. To anyone who did not know him they would have wrongly thought the blonde was bored.

But no, the blonde was contemplating. Yet only one thought crossed his tired mind over and over like a stuck record player, refusing to leave: how did one cure a curse that not even the victim could decipher? A past holding nothing holds no future; a curse chaining the past controls the future. Either way…you are a prisoner. Beneath gloved fingertips a warm smile crossed his lips even though he felt it should not be there.

_What am I gonna do with ya, Vincent?_ Such a tender thought it was that it caused an eyebrow to rise. Then a small snort escaped him as he shook his head slightly, affectionately.

_**You being my key is not as terrible as it seems…**_

Vincent's exhaustion brought upon him nothing but deafening whispers of a horrid dream, of a nightmare. A past and duty forever out of reach, a mystery impossible to solve, a life unknown…both past and future…and whatever present he had felt empty. He shakily sighed as one of his hands hesitantly rose to his forehead, fingers trembling before his frightened eyes when anxiously brushing his bangs away. Unbeknownst to him, Rayman glanced to him in the corner of his eye with a pitying frown—unmoving.

On Vincent's head, concealed by the dark shadows of the cellar, Bow sadly chirped. Such a sound could only be compared to a keening of mourning. Her indigo fur appeared almost glossy black in the dim lighting, and those shining, beady eyes seemed like dulled gems scuffed by sadness. However, her striped antennae suddenly pricked at the sound of footsteps beyond the cellar door.

Both slaves remained too lost in their drowsy haze to notice.

_**Come forth, come forth, and unlock me…**_

How the echoing of a key twisting within the lock remained unnoticed by the two would never be openly explained.

_**Do not be afraid, my child, do not be afraid of me...**_

_**As you draw ever closer to setting me free.**_


	12. What Truly Is Truth?

What truly is truth?

"Pray tell, you're up as well, boy? Polokus, the world is ending."

Every wide pair of eyes shot to the door at the familiar, male voice.

In frantic shock Vincent, albeit gently, pried Bow entangled within his hair out. He hastily hid her behind him without a sound with his expression one of utter fear. Sheer luck would have it that one of the cellar's archways blocked the Hunter's view, leaving Bow unspotted. A timid sigh of relief escaped him. It appeared Razoff had not glimpsed a single slither of indigo fur. Bless the oblivious architect!

Fondness shone true in the Guardian's smile for Vincent, before his very soul took a drastic U-Turn in a heart beat, venomous, seeming beyond his control, eyes narrowed in scorn, even though the Hunter never laid a finger on him. He slowly turned and glared his way, a snarl curled his lips, icy sapphires fiery with flames forged to fight. Such unrivalled heat…such burning hate. Such distain would inwardly shrivel a weaker man.

"No, it ended when ya walked through the door," Rayman droned.

Razoff's eyes just narrowed and he brushed an imaginary dust speck from his coat sleeve, uninterested, unfazed. He actually laughed at understanding that the slave was deadly serious. He raised a delicate eyebrow and tapped his chin with a finger in playful amusement, voice rich like a locked treasure chest with mocking, "Indeed? I believe yours ended when you were foolish enough to waltz through _my_ door."

That did it. On instantly understanding those words, Rayman bit down on his tongue to prevent a retort slipping loose. He looked, and he knew with a hissing pride, as if he had been physically struck. He would not admit it…but Razoff held a downright good point.

_Gallant Glutes, I hate this reasonable git, _Rayman seethed, snorting once more when Razoff professionally detected the frustration and gave another of his signature smirks in response. A remark so, so desperately wished to burst free from his lungs—freedom's bird from slavery's cage—his secret pleasure to infuriate the Hunter.

It was then, through his slave's fiery glares, something utterly remarkable caught the Hunter's eye. A sly smile full of wonder passed his lips. There, perceptive enough to detect it…Razoff caught the unconscious step Rayman took in front of Vincent. Deep down, he felt a physical twinge of something being struck true at seeing such a thing. He frowned; it was something he felt unsure about.

What had triggered such behaviour from Rayman: such guardedness?

Razoff merely stared at the boy before him in interest. His composure remained visibly faultless…despite the disconcerting thing he had just felt within. A finger that had before tapped his chin retook that rightful place; his fingertip traced it gently as he appeared to ponder. Perhaps his smirks had set Rayman's nerves on edge, or maybe something more was beginning to take shape? His face that once possessed a frown now appeared intrigued as, whatever it was, obviously pried on Rayman's new reflex to protect his companion.

Skilled eyes only the Hunter could hold sharpened, realisation evident. _Could it be, perhaps…you're starting to care for him, boy?_

In-between the discomfort of the two enemies (of the disobedient Rayman and the patient Razoff,) the oblivious Vincent blinked. Even through his uncertainty for the two a certainty for other things coupled it, and one thing remained entirely certain…exactly what had occurred without him wanting it to. That shy blink suddenly morphed into something uncharacteristically cold—a frown. A frown filled with agitation at what he noticed: emeralds focused on his companion's foot stood in-between his and the Hunter's path.

The sight plagued him so. That horrid truth that was his companion's guarding motives squeezed. Vincent gasped and snapped his head away as if somewhat in remorse, seeming as if the mere truth plagued him for reasons unknown. Nervous, his eyes screwed tightly shut. Emptiness, anger, pain, all had flown as fast as lightning passed his pupils before black curtains had shut them away.

Why did Rayman's desire to defend Vincent pain the latter so? It…It triggered something within his chest, something that he did not understand…

And it inwardly hurt.

If only, if only Rayman could just give Vincent another look. If only he just turned around, just for a moment, then he would have seen the peculiar cold gaze just as quick to appear as it did vanish. If only, but the stubborn male remained locked solely on Razoff instead—unrelenting. He would never see it.

Through coal black bangs…Vincent quietly sighed and glanced away.

All of a sudden, Razoff's eyes flashed. "Think fast_."_

Vincent yelped in cute alarm, though not because something had happened to him. No, it was because of how Razoff had quite literally thrown a broom directly at Rayman's head.

The unsuspecting victim cried out, albeit in shock rather than fear. He cockily grinned as he managed to catch it with his trained reflexes—but not his balance. Sturdy force behind the mighty throw left him no room to brace himself. He was harshly thrown to the ground, eyes wide. How could he have been so careless?

Thud! A mighty bang of a fallen slave. The sudden gasp as he hit the floor pierced the room, pierced his very pride with the sharpness of his breath. Hard, he connected with heartless stone, groaning as he skidded a short distance away. Hood tassels thrashed from the force. Hair frantically fluttered. Hearts froze. Silence choked. Yet, the very power behind his eyes as he slowly opened them could have stopped the world.

Vincent cringed in disbelieving shock. Bow nearly shrieked. Panic visibly flashed across his pale face as he hastily thrust a hand back to cover Bow's mouth.

Deadly silence. An apprehensive, silent moment passed, deadly to the core, while the pride-hurt Guardian took the chance to lift his head to glare daggers at the Hunter before him. Oh, how he despised the man with every fibre of his being. Both of their gazes sent angry sparks aflame as both pupil fuses met.

However, when Rayman's mouth opened without thought to free a retort for what he had done, the words caught in his throat. What could have possibly made him hesitate?

Why, there, beside Razoff's leather boots, he spotted a certain feline that had previously not been present in the doorway.

The ginger cat was staring, unblinking. No, not at him on the ground...

Rayman felt his blood run icy cold in a heart beat. The cat stared right at Vincent. Or, to be more specific, _behind _Vincent.

A tail regally swished back and forth, back and forth, back and forth extra slowly at sensing something odd. Feline pupils thinned to slits amidst the demon-yellows of their orbs. A little pink tongue revealed itself as it tentatively licked hungry lips. One little nose expertly sniffed the air for scents undiscovered whilst a cute little paw rose slightly off the floor from its efforts. Those pointy ears pricked like demon horns—alert.

He internally felt like a blizzard had frozen him from the inside out. _Oh, no...Bow._

"Vincent, mail time is in ten minutes. Slave, if there's any intelligence residing in that skull of yours, which I doubt, then get off the floor...you'll catch a chill." Razoff rolled his eyes, fully expecting the infuriated growl he then received from his stubborn slave.

Vincent's stutter sounded, "Yes, M-Master Razoff."

Razoff nodded in approval, yet his eyes did not quite look at Vincent. Never would it be admitted out loud, but he felt a little out of sorts around him after the 'chandelier incident.'

Finally, when Rayman snorted and stood up, even though the Hunter knew there was nothing but contempt in the boy's movements, he could not hold back the unnoticeable incline of his head. It was one that someone did when a hidden worry was put to rest. It could be mistaken for no movement at all. And so that was why Rayman did not notice.

"Hey, why can't I do the mail for a change?" Rayman spat with spite, in order to salvage a damaged pride. Would you not after being smacked to the ground by a broom? As he stood there with this very broom in hand he glared at Razoff, more curious than anything.

The Hunter chuckled lightly, unaffected by the other. Patience was a virtue in his life, and with Rayman's introduction it was even more so. He merely adjusted his hat and raised an eyebrow in a fluent motion that clearly said it all: 'what do you take me for boy, an idiot? I wouldn't trust you within a ten metre radius of my mail...or the front door.'

Yet the truth behind Rayman's question, behind his eyes, remained hidden from the man. The thoughts concealed the very secret that mirrored his current heart holding concern for his partner.

"You are obviously sweeping the attic for _obvious _reasons." In one swift motion, Razoff lifted a hand to count off his slender fingers. "One, your the furthest away from the front door as you possibly can be. Two, I would never trust you with my mail if my life depended on it. And three, you have the chance to reminiscence when you're up there, no? " Razoff drawled, smirking.

**His eyes widened and he spluttered in alarm at the sudden musky scent wafting through the air. It was so intoxicating, filling his lungs to the point they were too full to breathe. Violently coughing made his eyes suddenly water. **

The Guardian grimaced, as the Hunter smiled in triumph.

**A growl of frustration rumbled from his throat as, squeezing his eyes shut, he was forced to a stop to wipe his eyes. It was just too thick; the air was too thick, like breathing through smoke. **

"Do you understand, boy?" Razoff pressed, wanting something in particular. Rayman's lack of usual reaction had caught his attention.

Rayman rolled his eyes. After yesterday's events he knew exactly what the git waited for. However, a smirk mischievously lit his lips that made Razoff glare sternly in warning. Whatever happened yesterday did not give him any more reason to obey, correct? Although, the idea of being starved for additional days on top of the days he had left did send a tendril of discomfort into his starved stomach and made it churn. So the warning gun-like gaze from the man was not entirely lost on him.

In the tension, with all eyes upon him, the golden head defiantly looked away. Eyes of distain held true as he uttered into nothing, "Whatever, _Hunter._"

The man glared while forcibly restricting the urge to punish the boy. His fingers visibly twitched at his sides, calling him to give a stern slap. But, why would he not strike? Many times before he had succumbed, why not now? He sniffed in regal distaste, for clear as the rings of crystal it rang through him: the refusal to call him 'Master.' Every ring echoed clearly in the boy's stubborn stance, and it secretly tore at his patience. Would he ever tame this slave? He doubted it so. The silence proved the resistant slave would speak no further.

Finding himself reluctantly satisfied with one slave, Razoff then switched his attention to the silent other. His eyes sceptically narrowed with a keenness honed by experience. The timid boy appeared suspiciously more jittery than usual for some reason unknown to him. Again an eyebrow rose, for the black and blue creature appeared to nearly tear away at the pale scarf around his neck. And a with a hidden fear that the boy would strangle himself, with a posture as straight and dignified as ever, Razoff moved to take a step closer—

"Meow!" The cat abruptly sang. The sound was high and merry like a chirp of a bird. Razoff blinked when his loyal pet suddenly started nuzzling his stripy left shin, purring away. Effectively, it halted him mid-step in secret confusion.

"What is it, pet?" Razoff muttered, slightly kneeling to lend a fist to his feline. The cat looked like the most joyful animal in the world when it purred louder in response and snuggled the offered knuckles with glee. Razoff could only shake his head lightly before he stood back up, forgetting about Vincent. He then mentioned to the two slaves as an afterthought, "I'll be in my Study should you need me, or in a certain case, to amuse me more when you're done." Onyx eyes immediately glinted at Rayman on the last part. Without anything else to say to them, he smoothly ordered to his cat, "Come."

Rayman appeared caught in a trap of disbelief. Did he really just see that? The Hunter was an utter git, right? Yet…what was that scene he just lay witness to? Despite everything, despite what he knew he should avoid...he could not help but be curious about the man before him. What was the story behind Razoff the Hunter? More and more he pondered on it. More and more the deadly curiosity grew.

The ginger cat instantly meowed whilst following directly behind its Master, the massive topaz in its collar dazzling in the light streaming through the doorway from upstairs. Rayman's eyebrows furrowed as just before the animal vanished, just before the cat disappeared after the Hunter, it spared the space behind Vincent a second predatory glance.

As quickly as it paused to stare, it suddenly averted its gaze to Rayman. His muscles tensed uneasily in an instant. He felt even more unnerved when it appeared the small creature's ever smiling mouth had upturned just the tiniest bit more, revealing the slight edge of a fang.

He was more than a little relieved when the animal stopped staring in order to pursue its Master.

Suspense that had previously choked ever so slowly began to ease its grip, seeming to flow beyond the light of the open door and beyond. The sound of the clinking chains in an unfelt breeze had never sounded so pleasant. Well, at least, in comparison to the stifling quietness that consumed the two slaves prior.

Both, unknown to each other, felt themselves relax when it seemed Razoff would not return. Rayman chuckled to himself; eyes glistened with that rare withdrawal into his own thoughts. Vincent's shoulders slumped in relief while he tightened his ponytail loosened with nervous sweat.

The braver of the two carefully watched the other: grip on the dreaded broom loosening, sapphires softening, and friendliness flowing into the glow of his smile. It seemed as if he wished to pour his soul's very confidence into Vincent as naturally as the light flowed into his grin. Not a shred of uneasiness held between them, in fact all felt reasonably comfortable—calm. Sympathy gleamed in his eyes when Vincent unconsciously lifted fingers to stroke a stray hair away…

A sigh harshly escaped the Guardian whilst he switched his gaze to the open doorway. Blonde hair gracefully followed the movement, nearly seeming to droop in emotion the other male could never understand. Unknowingly, he rested against the pillar that was the broom, just staring far into the crimson light. Dulled eyes reflected that heart wrenching red glow. He appeared…almost lost. To give Vincent some sort of support, just _something_ to hang on to…was it really too much to ask?

"That was close," Vincent's quiet voice interrupted. Nerve-wracked, he once again proceeded with the habit of fiddling with his scarf.

Rayman answered by a small 'hmm' of agreement in the back of his throat. In truth, he knew he looked just as lost as he currently felt.

Vincent's soft words, ones that had spoken like the call of a dove, managed to connect with Bow in a strange way since she took the opportunity to re-emerge. Her reappearance was left ignored by Rayman as he leant against the broom deep in the pool of his thoughts.

"Hey, Vincent," He inquired, pointing at the open doorway with undeterred doubt as he continued. "Have ya noticed anything..._odd_, about that cat in the time you've been here?"

"'Odd?'"

"Odd."

The other gave another hollow smile that tugged at Rayman's soul. He replied with hints of an apologetic tone mixed within, "Apologies, no."

The Guardian gave him a sincere smile in return, yet something still seemed to trouble him…

He rested his chin upon the broom end with thoughtful eyes, replaying the image of the ginger cat in his mind's eye.

**He felt even more unnerved when it appeared the small creature's ever smiling mouth had upturned just the tiniest bit more, revealing the slight edge of a fang.**

In regards to the Hunter's cat…

Well, it was obviously just his imagination…right?


	13. What Are You Afraid Of?

What are you afraid of?

Rayman had to stop mid-step as he harshly coughed into his glove, expression pained from its might as he travelled down ancient corridors lit by crimson candlelight. He had just finished his job of sweeping the attic, and found himself covered in a layer of dust. The good thing was that he had succeeded without blowing his head in rage; the bad thing was that it triggered his cough once again. Already irritated lungs now irritated him even more with the dust tickling his throat—mocking him.

Many questions flew through his mind in that moment: how long had this mansion been standing? How many generations of jerks had come before Razoff? They remained unanswered as he reluctantly headed towards the corridor's end, releasing a solemn breath, feeling sure that his sapphires swam with the pure annoyance he currently felt. It must be shining against the candle flames with his every step: the glow illuminating the pride of his irises along with his distaste for the Hunter. He forced himself to laugh at his own negativity. Why would he care about the Hunter's past, what did it matter? The man was a _monster!_

Yet, golden hair drooped, mimicking the miserable sensation of the shadows gathering around him in corridor corners. Those shadows watched him, hunted him, trailed behind him like haunting demons.

Something obviously plagued him. And the further and further he walked, the stronger and stronger it became. So weighty it was that it slowed his sluggish steps until he merely stood motionless in the doorway, one that would never be his escape.

Once again merciless coughs struck to be followed by a despising snarl. It seemed to him that every cough that wracked his frame was more powerful than the last…and it secretly worried him. Of course, never would he admit out loud his self concern. No, never, he would not—_could_ not! It was just the soot from before, nothing more. Or at least…he attempted to believe this was the case. It did not help how deep down an uncertainty brewed like a vile potion of dread in the caldron of his stomach…and it was stirred by that heart-breaking sound of Ly's voice.

'You have forgotten me. You no longer care for me; you no longer wish to set me free. Why do you hurt me, why do you make me cry? Why are you still _here_, Guardian?'

_Do ya feel as if I have betrayed ya, Ly? Trapped within these prison walls and all the while ya wait for me to bring ya back. I promise, I will escape—I will! I promise! Please believe me…I just need time._

As Rayman shook his head and finally entered the room, passing the large mirror he had passed many times before, glancing into it for the briefest of moments, he paled.

Terror. The broom suddenly dropped from loose fingers. The bang as it hit the floorboards and tumbled away remained unheard. He took a petrified step back, eyes wide in fear uncommon. Fear. A shocked gasp yanked from him. Blonde hair stood on end. Freezing claws squeezed. His heart froze. Pupils shrunk. Rayman would swear his soul to Jano himself…

That he had just seen _her_ face staring back at him.

"R-Rayman?"

Ever, ever so agonisingly slowly, Rayman turned his gaze to the terrified Vincent. Only when he saw that frightened male shaking before him in the doorway did he seem to get a grip on himself, for he suddenly panted for breath as if snapped out of a trance. What in Polokus' name just happened? Had he…truly…seen her face? Trembling, he stumbled over to the fatal mirror, not once daring to take another glimpse, and leant against it to hold his balance.

Vincent looked highly alarmed as if fearing his partner would collapse.

His soothing, timid voice whispered to him, "Are you alright? You look awfully pale, sorry if I startled you."

That voice seemed to be the warmth to thaw the ice of the Guardian's soul. Cold fear that once clutched Rayman in its horrid jaws gradually ceased. A breath full of tension that he did not realize he had been holding escaped him, full of a relief that Vincent blinked at.

He suddenly turned to grin at Vincent with such gratitude that it made the other shyly look away, fiddling with his scarf nervously.

"Startle me? Ya could never startle me even if ya tried," Rayman forced a laugh, his smile blatantly false. Vincent's emotionless frown deepened somewhat, taking note at how the tone of Rayman's voice sounded quiet and his normally cocky laugh anything but. "Don't worry about me, Vincent. It…it's nothing."

A soft sigh escaped the darker one's frowning lips at those words. He looked…strangely distraught by the matter.

Rayman could not restrain the grimace at the sight. It yanked at his sore heartstrings, visible apology in his face as he cleared his throat. He would never voice his discoveries, but within his friend's eyes he spotted something stir. The spark he had detected a few times before remained. Tiny as ever, almost insignificant, but now it lay dormant. Rayman sighed out in remorse and looked away since Vincent's face stayed heart-wrenchingly blank.

_Who am I kidding? Vincent has a way of reading emotions, he knows I'm lying. Strange, I find it rather ironic,_ Rayman mentally chuckled.

With regret holding his heart for concealing the truth of what he was, of his own past, of his fate to protect the world, the more confident slave gave a tender smile to Vincent, one which held truth rather than lies, and kept his stance arrogant in order to hide his fears. Still Vincent's eyebrows furrowed beneath his bangs: secretly suspicious, silently pondering his partner…and it did nothing to ease Rayman's suffering.

Vincent kept his gaze on his shoes rather than meeting eye-contact, seeming as usual to be afraid of peering into those sapphires. Rayman's smile dampened in a pity he was worriedly getting used to, was it truly so hard? Was it truly so difficult to meet the truth that only the mirrors of your eyes can reflect? Rayman ended up sending him another apologetic look without thinking, genuine. To hurt Vincent was the last thing he desired.

_Perhaps it's for the best. Although I care for you, although I wish to see what's in your eyes…I fear what you will discover in my own._

But the knowledge that Rayman concealed something deep hung in the air like a stifling miasma.

"Rayman…tell me."

The suddenness of the statement briefly caught Rayman off guard.

"Hmm?" Rayman replied, eyebrow rising in confusion. "About what?"

"You. I-I do not remember my life, who I am, my past or my fate, but you know yours," Vincent muttered, heart racing as fingers fiddled more vigorously with his scarf. Shy emeralds focused on the shiny, metal ends of Rayman's hood tassels as he continued. "_Who_ are you, really?"

Confusion in the Guardian switched to delicate fondness at hearing fear in Vincent's voice. However, an edge of anxiety was also present, radiating from him in waves. They held nothing if not warning.

Much to Vincent's shock, Rayman averted his gaze as he picked up the broom he had previously dropped, positions in character swapping when he nervously chuckled, "Where did this come from, hey? I'm Rayman of course, that's who I am. That won't ever change."

Silent, Vincent furtively glanced to the mirror in the corner of his eye—unconvinced.

Rayman suddenly smirked with that comforting gleam to his eye as blinding as ever. He gave the other a sly wink and Vincent made a little sound in the back of his throat when he then tapped his chest with a harmless finger. "Now who's the curious one?"

The other remained impassive at that. However, there, hidden beneath veils of eyes, Rayman could only smile once more at the spark shining through.

All of sudden, Rayman jumped with an almost girlish scream. Vincent let out a reflexive little scream of his own and closed in on himself like a clam, hands cutely over his eyes in a flash. If Vincent just took the chance to peer over his fingertips…then he would have noticed Rayman staring at the wall behind him like a hawk.

"W-What?! What!" Vincent cried out.

Rayman spluttered, "Behind you!"

Uneasily, Vincent's hands slipped away to reveal startled eyes. All he found before him was the sight of Rayman standing on the double sofa, blonde hair prickling, stare fixed on a point over his shoulder—alert. A horrible sensation of being watched sent unnerving chills slithering down his spine. Coldness gripped his heart, even though he felt unsure why. Ever, ever so slowly, he turned around to fearfully risk a glance.

Vincent merely blinked at what he saw. What he had come face to face with, stuck to the red-painted wall, was…

"A…spider?" Vincent murmured, uncertain. He spun back to Rayman with uncertainty radiating from his aura even though emeralds kept astray from sapphires. "Apologies, that _is_ why you are on edge, correct?"

Being a spider of considerable size its black and lime green legs were large and gnarled in order to hook to the old paint. Lime green swirled around those black legs and the sight made Rayman cringe, for that bright, poisonous colour made a chemical taste enter his mouth. Motionless, beady eyes seemed to stare at the two larger creatures in the room, massive fangs as red as blood twitching. Furry legs kept deadly still while it stared at the two who had invaded its new-found territory. The entire insect looked as big as one of their hands—tarantula sized. It appeared almost as tense as a bow string ready to release an arrow of a strike.

"This? Rayman, it is just a Bogmogian Tarantulus, it is harmless."

"Harmless?! You're joking right?" The Guardian snorted at the disbelief in his company, not amused, but immediately regretted it when Vincent flinched and took a step back in response. He chose his next opinion with care and stated it more gently. "Looks damn poisonous to me."

Vincent cocked his head slightly. "Why so uneasy?"

"Trust me, Vincent," Rayman began, leaping down from the sofa with a resounding thud of feet connecting with wood. His eyes suddenly steeled with an unfamiliar coldness. Vincent felt his sensitive heart drop into a brutal freeze, fearing the oncoming words. "You have never been through what I've been through. Count yourself lucky, I would say. Imagine yourself caught in a trap of webs—threads as thick as your fingers are wide—ensnared. Silver silk? More like ivory wires holding you in place. The graves around you swirl in sickening mist, clawing hands creeping forth from those stone caskets wanting to drag you to oblivion. The scent of mould, decay, and blood chokes you. You're lost in a darkness that consumes your every sense. A chilly dampness coats your skin akin to your sweat as you struggle to break free. Why, you may ask? Well, a spider twice as big as you is homing in on you, ready to—

"Ah! Please, please stop, I do not like this at all!" Vincent squealed, panicked and close to tears.

It was then Vincent stiffened. He realised that Rayman had been speaking _normally_, every 'you' pronounced with grace, and it forged a strange tingle down his spine. It had sounded as if…someone more serious had spoken.

As if someone_ else_ had spoken.

Little did Vincent know…that the Guardian within had revealed himself rather than Rayman in that moment.

"Aww, did I scare ya?" Rayman teased at seeing Vincent's reaction, to which Vincent blinked in confused disbelief. How could someone change so drastically in a heart beat?

The timid one swallowed as it felt as if a stone had lodged into his throat.

The other's sudden distress did not go unnoticed, and Rayman gave him another of those brilliant smiles that could bring light into any soul. Gently, he laid a single hand upon Vincent's shoulder, who expectedly flinched at such a kind touch. Rayman softly patted the shoulder with warmness at heart. Vincent tensed, yet held firm.

Rayman's voice echoed strong and true, albeit awkward, when he admitted, "Sorry, Vincent. I guess past horrors have gotten me uneasy around spiders—no matter the size. As much as it stings my pride to admit it…I have a little, _miniscule_ arachnophobia."

"I-I am not surprised," Vincent stuttered in reply. "I am not afraid of spiders; I will remove it if you wish?"

The Guardian rolled his eyes at his answer. Seriously, did Vincent not realize how innocent he was? However, not one to decline such an offer, Rayman nodded his approval.

But what he then witnessed as a result made his heart stop dead in his chest.

Vincent merely turned to face the ferocious creature, met eye-contact, lifted his palms…and the spider instantly pushed off of the wall. Utterly shocked, Rayman stared with wide eyes. The spider fell into those palms, no hesitance at all: calm, quiet, submissive. He could not see Vincent's face as his back was turned to him…but his curiosity peaked at such a scene. Did his eyes, as drowned out by Razoff's treatment as they were, reveal something to the creature that he himself would never see?

Without a single word of explanation the darker of the two then just walked away—spider in toe.

There came a moment of apprehension in the Guardian as he stared off into nothingness. It was during this moment, deep within his sea of curiosity, in the waters reserved for Vincent alone…that something began to shift. Waters of curiosity overflowed while he watched the male leave and vanish from his sights. He heard the footsteps fade away until nothing but tense silence remained, and he left alone once more.

Rayman cursed under his breath and glanced away. The decrepit broom was tossed from one hand to the other as he fiddled. If anyone had been present, then they would have seen the thoughtful mist of his eyes. Why, oh why did that scene strike something within him: within his own memory? There remained a peculiar niggling in the back of his conscience that brought his features a frown. All he could feel…was a sense of déjà vu from long ago. Eyelids screwed tightly shut, trying to desperately remember what it was. He believed that someone, someone he had met before, housed a similar ability to calm the disgusting, creepy insects. But, after a minute or two, frustration in the form of a scowl caused him to surrender.

"**I have no memories, all except fragments of her. I...do not remember my childhood, home or friends—if I had any. I do not even remember my favourite foods, hobbies or colours. All I can remember is her, but her name still eludes me. I just know that she is my sister, but I know nothing about her. I lost my memory a long time ago."**

_Something tells me…that there's more to Vincent than I previously thought. If only I could remember myself._


	14. What Are You Hiding?

What are you hiding?

The door shut, echoing throughout the silent Study. Clack, that metallic snap of a lock under a key followed suit, slender fingers gripping it tensely. Razoff sighed and closed his tormented eyes as his palm kept on the key…as if afraid to let go. Snorting, he realised his skin had come to mesmerize that shape, that texture, that ancient metal surface after many years of locking this particular door...

Of locking himself away.

Whether such a thing was good or not—would turn the scales in his favour or not—caused his stomach to churn in sad uncertainty. Was this _truly _what he wanted?

Suddenly an eyebrow rose as he glimpsed the orange blur of his cat, which had sneakily slipped inside before the door had shut. He watched as it trotted to his signature seat with glorious tail held high—an almost identical pride in how it kept its stance as Razoff himself possessed. That air of pride and confidence in his pet…if only he could harness it right now.

The Hunter groaned in loud disbelief when he chanced the cat a glance, and just to be expected, he found that cocky feline had leapt into his signature, red, single sofa before his camera system. It smiled innocently back into his eyes with its large own as it sat upon its decided throne.

Hands rested upon his hips as he snorted in amusement at the 'puppy dog' look he currently received. "No, off."

He pointed imperatively to the crimson rug. However, the cat just stared at his finger, not moving.

Razoff face-palmed when it defiantly curled up into a ball to snooze instead, an affectionate whisper leaving his lips after a pause filled with cat purrs, "…Stubborn thing, you remind me ever so much of _him_."

With a smile, the Hunter silently crept over to the animal turned from him. Unbeknownst to him, the feline cracked a single eye open at sensing his presence getting closer, closer. You could practically hear the happy smile in its chirp when Razoff gently removed the hat from his head, and tenderly slipped the beloved object over the beloved ball of ginger fluff. A small purr rumbled from beneath the material worn for generations where the cat's head now lay concealed.

The Hunter chuckled fondly. Softly, he tickled the unseen cat's ears through the hat surface, to which a little nose nuzzled into the red material from the other side—loyal beyond measure.

Yet something caused a frown to cross the Hunter's face in that moment. There, there in the very crevices of his mind, he swore he could hear something cry. Something seemed to call to him. No, in truth, it yelled to him, _screamed_ to him. But silence continued to deafen his alert ears that for once he wished were not so keen.

Silence can be more deadly than any noise…especially when one's conscience is left to roam. And it was this conscience that ailed him: in the form of a silently roaring envelope lying still upon his desk. Hesitant, his emotional mask filled with bottled secrets glanced to the open letter, to the delicate, black scrawls of inky blood faded by distance, parchment dangerously untouched by his own fashionable font, all those emotions in that mask restrained as if they, too, were a prey to be contained. As if they, too…were his enemy.

Onyx eyes narrowed at the silver buckles of his boots as he rubbed the tops of his arms, unsure.

**Turning his gaze briefly to the desk on the opposite side of the room, he noted that it was piled with papers and that the grey, ostrich feather, quill, lay on its side upon the wooden surface. Its tip was dry, signalling that he had not been touched it in a while.**

There the Hunter's Guild insignia reflected crimson light like a blade of truth. 'H' and 'G' imprinted like snakes among the piece of melted gold that had once sealed the parchment shut glinted. That golden seal, that important letter.

Those heartless screams grew in Razoff's mind, grew, grew to shrieks. They made him audibly groan, and he pinched the bridge of his long nose. Eyelids screwed shut in discomfort as those thin fingers slid up over a dampening forehead. Loud, just so loud; those silent screams _too_ loud. Against his will, he forced his gaze to the right from the letter with troubled eyes…only to be awarded with his wordless report beside it.

**He frowned as a niggling sensation in the back of his mind irritably shouted at him to write that report to the Hunter's Guild now. Sighing, he ignored it; he could do that after seeing that his two slaves finished the job.**

He gripped his head with an almost inhuman cry of frustration. Could burdens truly destroy the heart over time? If hair had resided on his head he would have torn at it until nothing remained. Why, why was this so hard? Why did his conscience haunt him like a feral beast?

He decided he could not stand it anymore, and bleakly switching his gaze to the cat on the furthest end of the room he noted how those ambers stared at him closely from beneath his hat's rim. He smiled sadly at the diligence those eyes held…the concern. But even as he attempted to distract himself—and he knew with a curse under his breath that he was—all the while the dry image of an ostrich feather quill threatened to pierce his very vision out.

Like many times prior, he sighed and ignored the signs. He could write later correct? It was not of great importance, right?

_Indeed, yes, I have plenty of time left. I have…time left…_

Something suddenly brushed his shin. Razoff started with a reflexive gasp. Anxious eyes shot downward in alarm, only to make him exhale with heart racing. Of course it was only his loyal cat sat at his feet once more with an all-too-familiar hat resting upon its head.

"Meow! Meow!" 'Here you go,' it seemed to chirp.

"Pray tell, what am I going to do with you?" Razoff chuckled, stiffly bending down to retrieve his hat. Age or nerves, to be honest he could not help but feel unsure what stiffened him.

Grabbing the hat revealed pricked ears. Alarmed, Razoff felt his heavy heart drop…_it_ knew. The cat knew of his nerves, sensed them, could probably see them floating around him even. For some unknown reason it struck a need to speak to his thoughts.

"Help me, old friend. There must be something to change his fate?" The Hunter sorrowfully muttered.

In response the cat cocked its head, staring back at him with curious eyes. The whisper had left his lips dried by the heat of secrets…as if the words were a gust across the very desert of his nerves. Could the cat truly understand his pain, or was this merely a lost cause? Those words too quiet for any ordinary person to hear sounded as if spoken to a long-time friend.

Razoff's eyebrows furrowed when one of the cat's ears swiftly twitched in answer, almost as if in understanding.

Clearing his throat, Razoff quickly stood with hat in hand and uneasily mumbled, "If only I could thrust away my worries as easily as my hat upon your head, boy."

The cat slowly tilted its head the other way, saddened. "…Meow."

He gingerly placed the hat back in its destined spot upon his head where it belonged. Though despite the object being back and fingers leaving the worn rim, he still felt extremely uneasy. His own nervousness suddenly became noticeable to even himself and he cursed under his breath.

All of sudden Razoff started to feverishly pace around his Study. Thud, thud, thud, each step resounded loud and sharp, like every hurtful beat of his heart. Eyes absentmindedly softened in approval at how his cat decided to stay a metre away rather than follow his harsh footsteps. Good choice.

_Might as well, everything I come into contact with I taint somehow._

Razoff snorted almost hatefully; thoughts were such a cruel phenomenon. They never ceased, not even during his already restless dreams that remained haunted by things he did not wish to re-see. Why else do beastly dreams and nightmares feast upon these thoughts? They were cruel, the beast was cruel, that was the answer. He scowled with tense fingers pressed to his forehead…for he knew. That beast remained none other than his inner self gradually gnawing away at him from the inside out. Wise eyes reflecting distaste narrowed. When thoughts crawl to slithers, when conscious thought becomes the subconscious, it curses you. They become so sluggish, so small that they slither into cracks in your skull's cave to hide—and strike venomously when you least expect it. Things you frantically thrust into the very dungeons of your mind are never truly forgotten nor leave…

But Razoff desired nothing more than to erase blemishes of the past. He shakily sighed into the silence at knowing all too well the misery the past imprisoned.

_Or, in reality…is the past imprisoning me?_

Minutes then passed by in slow torment for the Hunter. The cat had decided to retake his seat and watch as the man paced back and forth, a threat to leave a path in the floorboards evident. In fact, the carpet already held signs of being flattened to the floor in certain places. How many times had the Hunter retraced that path? How many times had he paced this very route, the route of his past?

Only the cat could tell, and it could not even if it wanted to.

"*Cough* Ack! Blasted cough—*cough* I hate that Hunter."

Said Hunter froze. A cunning smirk suddenly upturned his lips. Rayman still hated him with an unrivalled vengeance; at least _something_ was right with the world. Indeed, Rayman despised him, rebuked, resisted and revolted against him. The boy challenged him in a way he had never encountered.

Razoff's smirk grew ever more confident as he regally strode to that fatal key in its lock.

"Ah, the slave's finished I see," He sniggered before continuing. "Time for some…_entertainment._"


	15. Fighting Back!

Fighting back!

Forever seemed to pass since that peculiar meeting with Vincent, and in that drifting time Rayman had spent it exploring draws and cupboards about the mansion that he could get access to. If only he knew, that in reality, only twenty minutes had slipped away since then. He was honestly waiting for the right moment, waiting for Razoff to venture out of his precious study…but a part of him felt strangely wrong.

He frowned as deep down the thought niggled at him that the Hunter must be watching with amused eyes from a corner, spying from a gap in a doorframe, tracking him through the very walls of the mansion itself. The mansion in its entirety was Razoff's unavoidable gaze. He knew that the Hunter must be able to see him forbiddingly turning the place inside-out through the cameras. Any moment now the Hunter should make an appearance.

But Rayman could not shake a strange, gripping feeling in his bones. It felt as if he was being the _watched_ rather than being the _watcher_.

Rayman had been thinking. Now, whether that was dangerous territory to tread, or wise considering his reckless background, was entirely up to him. He had been thinking of everything he had learned, everything the mansion held against him: the cameras, the special gun beyond the front doors, the electrified windows at a single command, the outer walls too hard to break through, and those front doors inwardly lined with steel. The mansion was an impenetrable fortress. But he was slowly formulating a plan, and it showed in his face.

_I need more details to create further plans, and to do that I'll need to experience some more...self sacrifice, _he thought, not hindered in the slightest. This was it.

A strange excitement for oncoming danger glowed in his heart as he glanced to the grandfather clock. It read over midday, and he smirked as that meant Vincent was, without a doubt, in the kitchen waiting for Razoff to come and unlock the cupboards to make lunch for the day. Of course, that was _his_ lunch, neither of the slaves. His stomach took that moment to rumble sadly, sounding like someone who makes a wish yet knowing it will never happen.

Hearing the sound of footsteps all of sudden descending the steps of the Foyer, Rayman felt his heart drop from giddiness into his empty stomach as he spotted the man in mind coming into view. Darting with silent feet across the Foyer to follow in hot pursuit, he kept a safe distance behind with watching, sapphire eyes. He watched as the Hunter entered the kitchen just as he had predicted.

Grinning almost insanely, Rayman forced himself to walk with a causal air around the corner and entered the kitchen directly after the glimpse of a red coat vanished…keeping his expression under close surveillance. The last thing he needed, and it would be fatal, was for his target to detect his overconfidence.

Vincent took a nervous step back at seeing Razoff enter the kitchen, but when Rayman entered straight afterwards his eyes widened at the cocky grin the other held. Perhaps keeping the excitement under wraps was too difficult a task for Rayman. Gulping silently, Vincent flicked his eyes from Razoff to his friend and back again. It seemed obvious that the Hunter had no clue that his slave was there tailing him yet—or was he just pretending not to? Pretending not to notice Rayman himself, Vincent nervously watched as Razoff took a small key out of his left pocket to unlock the series of cupboards bolted to the walls. The clicks of the numerous locks unlocking echoed throughout not only the room…but also Vincent's wary mind.

_Oh Heavens! What is he up to? _Vincent thought wildly and began to sweat as Rayman hoisted himself up onto the table to sit there with shoes happily dangling over the side.

"Vincent, you will cook a meat pie. It shall be for dinner later, I'm not hungry for anything now so just focus on dinner. Understand, boy?" Razoff ordered as he retrieved the flour, eggs and vegetables from the cupboards before turning to unlock the fridge and obtain the milk and beef. He miraculously did not spot Rayman staring at him like a hungry cat. Vincent sweat dropped.

"Y-Yes Master Razoff," Vincent replied, and Razoff nodded in satisfaction at the use of the assigned title.

Turning from the fridge with the needed ingredients in hand, Razoff instantly came face to face with Rayman sitting upon his table and cocked an eyebrow. It was more the cocky grin plastered across the resilient face, as his feet swayed back and forth playfully, that touched the Hunter's interest. What was going on through the boy's thick head of his? He paused for a moment to give a questioning glance.

"What are you doing here, Slave?" Razoff taunted and let the last word roll teasingly off of his tongue. "Prey tell why you were previously turning my home upside down, which I won't hesitate to add is forbidden…_especially_ for you."

Rayman just shrugged with a challenging grin. He crossed one invisible leg over the other in a relaxed posture, leaning back on his hands on the tables' smooth surface as he did so. He then lifted a gloved hand up to run it through his hair in the signature action known so well whilst he watched Razoff place the ingredients on the side for Vincent to prepare. Razoff snorted when no answer came, before he just grabbed a glass from a cupboard and went to fill it with water from one of the sinks; his and Rayman's eye contact did not break even once.

**Rayman made a face of understanding to Vincent at noticing the many evidential envelopes in his companion's hands. However, he slowly raised an eyebrow in curiosity when he noticed a heart shaped box under all the paper.**

"How's Bégoniax?" Rayman suddenly asked out of the blue.

Razoff's eyes went immensely wide before spluttering the water he had began drinking. Rayman smirked triumphantly. Vincent felt all colour drain from his face like powder through a sieve.

"How do you know about that hag, boy? Besides, I wouldn't know," Razoff replied, defensively, and glared at his disobedient slave, a glare that clearly said that if he pushed it he would get severely punished.

Noticing the obvious silent threat Rayman just grinned mischievously in return.

"Why wouldn't ya? Bégoniax seems to be _hopelessly_ in love with ya...although I can't imagine why," Rayman muttered the last part, but had deliberately made it loud enough for the target to hear.

Vincent hovered over the ingredients bestowed to him trying to ignore the two as he felt his head go light with nerves; taking a shaky breath to steady himself he began to shave carrots of their skin, almost automatic in nature. In the corner of his eye…he nervously saw Razoff tighten his grip on his glass.

"I wouldn't know because I don't see her, idiot. I don't like her," Razoff simply stated as he closed his eyes and turned his head to the side, expertly concealing his annoyance for the woman.

Both Rayman and Vincent blinked at this; they really had not expected him to answer at all. Rayman had actually predicted getting punched in the face. Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Rayman watched as Razoff took a much smaller sip of his water, feeling a vein pop on his forehead as the Hunter smirked over the rim at him.

At spotting Rayman's curious expression, Vincent began to seriously feel dizzy as he thought, _curiosity killed the cat Rayman, do not ask anymore. Do not ask anymore ques—_

Rayman mocked in a sing-song tone, "Then what about the gifts in the post? Poor woman wasting her life away as she cooks ya treats when she doesn't realise that her love is wasted on ya."

And Vincent officially could not take it anymore.

Unexpectedly, a thud filled the air and when Rayman turned sharply to where Vincent was he found that he had disappeared. Trailing his eyes to the floor, he found Vincent had fainted from nerves and raised an eyebrow. Razoff sighed as if expecting this. He swished the remaining water around in his glass with a sigh, contemplating. Taking a couple of steps forward, Razoff threw the remaining water on Vincent's face. A shocked gasp filled the kitchen as the victim jolted awake in an instant.

"It's been a while since you've done that," Razoff calmly pointed out, as if the most common thing in the world. Rayman raised an eyebrow in confusion at this.

Vincent shot off the floor as if he had been stung and blushed a furious red in embarrassment, whipping himself back to the ingredients as he attempted to calm the hotness in his cheeks. Rayman gave him a sympathetic smile, even though the other could not see it, before returning his focused gaze to the Hunter. He found the Hunter rummaging through the freezer below the fridge. A clank filled the air as Razoff put a metal tray on the kitchen side and closed the freezer door before returning to the tap to refill his glass.

Rayman watched with mild interest as he could not see what was in the frosty, metal tray from his position on the table. A cracking sound entered his ears followed then by the sound of something plopping into the water. Rayman made an expression of realisation as he realised that Razoff was putting ice in his drink...but Rayman was wrong about the reason.

"It's way too hot in here; you should seriously consider fairy conditioning," Rayman remarked honestly as he felt himself begin to sweat. To be honest he felt unsure whether this was because of the heat or the suspense brewing in his brain.

"Indeed," Razoff replied with a smirk. He leant against the kitchen side and rocked the glass so that the ice clinked inside. Ring, ring, ring, each icy clink like a bell, a _warning_ bell.

Several minutes passed with only the sounds being Vincent chopping up raw beef eerily echoing throughout the kitchen.

Razoff could feel that his hand now had gone numb as the untouched water now contained mostly melted ice. Rayman eyed him suspiciously, why was the Hunter not returning to his Study like he generally did?

"Yep, I think it's perfect now," Razoff suddenly admitted and Rayman gave him a weird look.

A purely shocked gasp disturbed the calmness as Rayman found a glass of freezing water thrown at his face. It was bone chillingly cold as his breath hitched. The sudden temperature drop froze him stiff. His eyes were wide as hair dripped icy liquid. A pool of the water flowed about him on the table like a shameful veil, flowing over the edge, dripping to the floor. Stray pieces of ice were carried with its wet trails. Holding his invisible arms and shivering from the cold he glared at Razoff. It had been quick, it had been unexpected—it had been planned.

"That'll teach you to stick that overly large nose of yours in someone else's business," Razoff sniggered as he put the now empty glass into the kitchen sink. The ding it made against the sink's side was one of victory. His smirk held pride, prejudice.

"Look who's talking! Have ya looked in a mirror lately?" Rayman retorted. He hissed through chattering teeth whilst the Hunter halted in response, pausing from heading towards the double doors.

"No...but you have, in that room with the large mirror I recall. I must say I wondered if you could possibly see past that huge nose of yours to actually see yourself properly," Razoff insulted back. He spun sharply around to the seething other with his red coat elegantly following the movement.

Rayman suddenly felt a tinge of pink taint his cheeks in embarrassment and he snarled at the Hunter. Seeing the desired reaction, Razoff chuckled darkly in satisfaction and placed his hands behind his back as if waiting for something more to spill over.

Not feeling cold anymore, and only feeling himself burn, for the fires of hate and distain burned deep inside his veins with fury, Rayman leapt from the table. Ignoring how heavy the water made him as he did so, ignoring the splash as his feet hit the wet floor. He glared furiously at the Hunter, not holding anything back. The Hunter took a graceful step forward, meeting the challenging gaze. Sparks flew as glare met glare.

"Does not help that you can't see past your massive ego, _Hunter!_" Rayman spat, taking another step closer.

Vincent cowered slightly away from his task as he had never seen it get like this before. They were getting louder and louder: scarier and scarier. He gasped as eyes shut tight in fear. Too far, things were going too far!

"At least I'm not a freak, especially with that hair of yours, _Slave!_" Razoff growled. He too took a step forward; Rayman mimicked it with a fierce sneer. They were getting closer and closer. "It's only use appears to be stuck up a chimney, speaking of which can you breathe properly yet?"

"Makes me laugh how ya use your hat as a replacement for yours!" Rayman yelled whilst taking another fast step forth.

Razoff's eyes suddenly flashed.

All of a sudden the Hunter took the few remaining steps left necessary. Rayman glared challengingly as Razoff stalked towards him. The Hunter suddenly threw his fist back. An almighty crack filled the air. Rayman was thrown off his feet, made him fly from its utter force. Deadly silence descended on them. It remained ever so deadly as Rayman collided with the harsh floor, as low as he could go, his pride grinded against the dirt of his mind. His back scraped the tiles harshly and he hissed. Tumbling into the puddle he splashed. Crimson trickled down his lip. His heart was racing. His breathing was hoarse.

"How dare you, you little swine!" Razoff yelled at him. A scowl scrunched his face, a snarl that was his patience cracking. Once again the tables had been turned. The shout had pierced the silence. It made Vincent's heart skip with fright.

Slowly, Rayman cracked an eye open to eye his abuser before him with contempt—a prideful dragon singed by his own fires. Grunting, he forced himself onto shaky palms, nearly slipping against the water surface. The taste of blood filled his mouth. Turning, he spat the blood out with disgust, watched it mingle with the puddles surrounding him. Shakily, he forced himself onto invisible knees. Agonisingly slowly he rose up onto his feet. Scowling at the Hunter, he wiped his mouth. Blood stained the white glove's surface.

"You think...you have nothing to fear..." Rayman wheezed. Vincent's eyes widened: that change of voice, of _person!_ The suspense-strung silence grew heavy, his words a sword to fight—to defend. Slowly, he stood straighter, face purple and bruised despite it all. Pained grunts escaped bleeding lips. Blood trickled down his chin. It gathered there on that masculine chin, dripped drop after menacing drop into the puddles below. Their plops as they hit rattled the silence. Once pure water became tainted...tainted pink with innocent blood. It was so, so fatally silent. "...You're wrong."

It was as fast as lightning. Razoff had no time to react. Rayman's fist came at him. It hit from across the room, it hit strong and true. Razoff was sent flying with a cry. A boom pierced the silence. He connected with the wall—went straight through. Dust exploded. Rubble crumbled.

Vincent covered his mouth in shock and screamed as all hell broke loose. His eyes were wide in disbelief. That had been so powerful, so unexpected, so frighteningly fast. All he could do was tremble from fear and suspense. _Rayman…what have you done?_

It remained deadly silent, all except the wall still crumbling away from the scene of rebellion. You couldn't see Razoff, couldn't see the hole through the dust cloud, couldn't see the fate before your very eyes. No one dared to move, no one dared to even breathe.

Rayman's fist slowly reappeared through the cloud; it slowly came back to his body and connected itself. Rayman clenched his fingers experimentally, watched as the material stained in his own blood flexed. Painfully slowly, he raised his eyes from his fist to the dust ahead, he was watching...waiting. The silence felt so tense that you could cut it with a knife.

Suddenly, a shadow appeared through the dust and Rayman's eyes widened. He leapt out of the way as a heart stopping bang echoed, leapt out of the way of the dart now embedded in the tiled floor. Snarling with blood stained lips Rayman back flipped onto the table. Its wet surface splashed underfoot. He felt alarmed as he almost slipped as Razoff charged in.

No words were expressed as Rayman dodged another shot. Vincent cried out in terror and fell to his knees, fell to avoid the dart that sped passed where his head had previously been moments ago. It hit the wall with a resounding thud.

Rayman growled and flipped elegantly over Razoff's head. He sent his fist attacking the remaining locks on the cupboards as he flew. The cupboards practically exploded. Slams deafened as the doors burst open, broken metal scattering. Lethal shards showered over Vincent who yelped sharply. Bang after bang, dodge after dodge, chaos became destruction.

Rayman pounced through the lingering dust, pounced through the gaping hole in the wall he himself had created. As he flew, in slow motion, he watched with wide eyes as a dart just missed his face by mere inches. He front rolled on the corridor on the other side, topaz and ruby tiles reflecting the fire in his eyes. Without hesitation he was already on his feet and skidding around the corner to the Foyer. He could hear Razoff's rushed footsteps behind him. He knew that he didn't have much time.

_I must get through the front door; I must get to that special gun Vincent mentioned, before _He_ hits me first!_ Rayman thought wildly as he slid through the Foyer like a dear on ice.

Before bolting for the front doors, he gracefully spun around and sent a fist flying to the chandelier. It hit dead on. The chandelier rocked dangerously on impact. Razoff entered just as the sound of wires snapping filled the air. Crackling electricity buzzed in warning as fifty light bulbs suddenly blinked. They flickered out. Pure shadows swallowed them. The wire snapped. The chandelier gave way. An almighty crash reverberated throughout the mansion. Smashed glass from the bulbs scattered across the floor, bouncing and clinking in the darkness. Rayman smirked, that had to have given him some extra time as he ran for all he was worth to those mansion doors.

Bursting through the huge front doors, the world he beheld took his breath away, one he had missed for too long. The Twin Moons shone their dim light down on him in the Bog of Murk's constant night, fresh air filling his lungs as the rain poured down on his already soaked body. Those moons, those pearly eyes, shone down on him with a light to refill his goblet of hope and faith.

However, he quickly spun around to face the blackness down the corridor…knowing what he dreaded would occur when a stern face finally revealed itself. And at the same time he spotted the tell-tale sparkle of something on top of the doors in the corner of his eye. He stood there gasping for breath in the cool breeze that chilled him to the bone. Such a night, such a fresh taste of freedom.

All of a sudden he raised an eyebrow in confusion; he discovered something lying on the ground not so far away. _Isn't that Bégoniax's gift from bef— _

Rayman's thought abruptly cut off as he felt a searing pain in his side, a silent syringe had pierced it from a gun deliberately placed above that doorway—unrelenting. It had been put there to stop success of escaping…and it had succeeded. Yet he hatefully knew he would not have escaped anyway.

The only thing that crossed his fading mind: the only image, the only voice…was Ly.

Unlike last time, the Guardian merely gave a curse when everything fell to darkness.


	16. Cry for Me

Cry for Me

Pure silence engulfed the kitchen; the sounds of Razoff's gun in the Foyer had hauntingly stopped. The cupboard doors were still swinging slightly with eerie creaks, their smashed padlocks scattered across the golden tiles beyond repair.

Vincent trembled uncontrollably, eyes wide as he stood utterly frozen. What…had just happened? He could barely register it, and it brought nothing if not a sickness deep into his stomach. The lingering dust cloud had finally faded away and he could see the true extent of the horror that had occurred. Seeing it made numbness consume him as he could barely stand and merely fell to his knees.

Water splashed as knees clashed with the puddle pooling the harsh floor, those ripples lingering like the freezing fear that chilled Vincent to the core, the very same puddle that Rayman had once, too, fallen within. The pure shock of what had just happened was scarcely believable, but in his slowly roaming eyes…he knew that it truly had. That mess of destruction—that unneeded suffering.

His ponytail had fallen loose as he tensely held invisible arms. He could feel it; he could feel his heart thudding inside his chest so painfully hard that he doubled over with a muffled cry. His breathing was shuddery, he had never realised in his wildest nightmares just how much this would affect him. Painfully slowly, he crawled under the table, feeling the puddle lap around his knees as the metal shards from the padlocks scratched at his skin like claw: the tiny claws of reality.

Deep inside himself, he could feel something horrible building, and it threatened to tear him apart, threatened to explode inside of him if he bottled it up any longer. It was a strong sensation, a sensation of powerful emptiness, a depression that tore at his soul. He shrunk in on himself like a timid ball. Even as he rocked slightly to try and calm himself, he just felt so cold and sick.

Silence, that was the only thing entering his ringing ears…terrifying, stiff silence.

XXXX

As soon as that chandelier had crashed in all its mighty glory, then darkness had seized the Foyer like a shroud that had suddenly swallowed it whole. Razoff could not see the chandelier as it crashed only metres away, only felt himself get hit by a wave of shattering glass as those light bulbs smashed into millions of pieces. With a cry he had been thrown back off his feet and his gun clinked and spun away from him on the tiled floor. He could not see Rayman, but he did spot through narrowed eyes the dim light that signalled that the front doors were wide open. Smirking, he just brushed himself off to rid stray glass; Rayman had obviously tried it out. The slave had finally attempted to leave, it seemed.

Brushing his red coat off and adjusting his hat so that it was more firmly perched on his head, he headed for those open doors, ignoring his precious gun only metres away. A cool breeze gently blew into the mansion through that moonlit doorway, the doors swinging on their hinges with daunting squeaks as he approached. Each of his steps fell with a resounding purpose. Thud…thud….thud…

Just as expected, there Rayman lay upon his front porch. The syringe that had struck the blow sparkled against the Twin Moons mourning glow. Those golden locks fluttered in the breeze. Those eyes known for a fight were blissfully shut, yet guilty blood still trickled from a split lip. It trickled down his chin, hit the cold stone floor, tainted the cold stone there, tainting it red in the light of the moons—leaving its permanent mark not only on the porch...but also on Razoff's soul. _He_ had done that...

Step after step echoed down the corridor. Razoff stared sternly at the sleeping figure. The Bog of Murk was seen to be calm around them, quite contradicting to the truth that had just transpired. Razoff sighed with his hands behind his back as he took another step clsoer so he was before the sleeping figure. Deep down, inside his scarred soul, he tried to figure out why his and Rayman's destinies had intertwined. Why had he suddenly appeared? Why was it that it had to be this way? What if things weren't the way they were forced to be, could things have been different between them? Many questions swirled in the Hunter's mind and clouded his eyes as he watched his slave's soaked body lying before him.

Without another thought, and brushing all these ridiculous questions out of his mind, he went and picked the unconscious boy up. There was no point in wishful thinking as things could not be different.

Things could never change, because...they had to be this way.

XXXX

After about half an hour, not daring to reveal himself sooner, Vincent hesitantly wondered into the darkness of the Foyer, treading cautiously over the broken glass of the chandelier's shattered bulbs. Some crunched underfoot to echo throughout the deadly silence that had suddenly taken over the mansion. It seemed, in all its entirety…that the mansion had become a beast stunned into silence. With a shaky hand, he found that circular doorknob to the cellar door, and slowly turned it with an anxious gulp. The metal mechanism squeaked as it twisted and the door slowly creaked open to reveal only more darkness down the steps below.

Swallowing, he gradually made his way down the cold, stone passage, the silence deafening his ears as he could vaguely see the door drawing nearer. He was listening. He listened intently for any sound of his companion, but nothing could be heard from behind that cellar door. And so, taking a deep breath…he forced himself to open it with a shyness unaltered.

When he entered his and Rayman's sleeping quarters he froze in his tracks. His eyes widened. Rayman was, quite literally, buckled to the stone wall by metal cuffs pinning his hands, body, feet and even one across his forehead. They were bolted—strong and unbreakable—like the pride within those metal shackles. It was obvious that he was restricted from all movement as he sighed in his place at least thirty centimetres from the ground, his two bangs of hair slightly over covering the rusty piece strapped across his forehead and bolted to the wall.

Rayman had to admit that being in such a weak position left his pride yelling in hatred. That could have gone better, _much _better, perhaps angering Razoff and making the volatile ground between them even fiercer was a fatal mistake…for he was now treading on burning coals and he knew it. Spotting Vincent, he gave him his signature, beaming smile that lit up his whole face. The smile only brought more fear to Vincent's eyes.

With one eye closed, Rayman teased in a croaky voice, "Ya alright? Ya looked a little frightened earlier."

Vincent narrowed his eyes in the darkness. They stared at suddenly realising that Rayman's body was littered in sickly purple and black bruises. It seemed that Razoff had not taken his behaviour lightly.

"Am I alright? Are you insane?!" Vincent suddenly burst out, and Rayman was taken aback by the unusual outburst from his shy friend. In also seeming to notice his own behaviour, Vincent suddenly blushed and fiddled with his scarf, before continuing in his genuinely timid voice. "I mean...I thought you knew what you were doing? I-I never…wanted this to happen."

"I did know and it was all worth it, don't ya worry your little head off. Come on Vincent, you've got to have faith in me," Rayman assured the other. His eyes and voice were filled with unexplainable warmth despite his currently painful situation.

Bow suddenly came out from hiding under the bed and with a cute little squeak she immediately flew over to Vincent to land on her favourite spot on top of his head. Vincent blinked as the Ugly played slightly with his hair, but did not go overly playful like usual. It seemed that even she understood the situation and just wanted some company.

"H-How is this worth it?" Vincent's voice broke as he carefully raised his gloved hands to gently pry Bow from his head. Bow clapped joyfully as Vincent held her in his arms against his chest, almost like a security doll. "How is any of this_ torture_ worth it? Y-You are hurt…"

'**You have forgotten me. You no longer care for me; you no longer wish to set me free. Why do you hurt me, why do you make me cry? Why are you still **_**here**_**, Guardian?'**

"...Because I've got a plan to get us out of here," Rayman grinned triumphantly in his position strapped to the cold wall, looking directly at Vincent with sparkling eyes. Vincent's head shot up at that in disbelief as for another rare moment their eyes met. The Guardian finished with a smirk. "And Bow plays a major part."

Bow squeaked and cocked her head to the side cutely when both Vincent and Rayman looked at her in unison: one confused while the other expectant.

"Pardon me for asking, but will you even tell me?" Vincent asked, unsure yet secretly curious.

_**I promise, I will escape—I will! I promise! Please believe me…I just need time.**_

"No," Rayman sighed out, looking away in regret. "But I promise, Vin, I'll tell ya when the time comes…I just need time."

XXXX

It was around eight that same, fateful night, and once again the mansion was extremely dark except for the lights and the fireplaces burning away in their respective rooms. The sun never shone in the Bog of Murk and so it was always an eternal night, but it always seemed to feel darker when it really reached the time of sleeping. But there was a deeper darkness holding this place. And with the house holding such darkness forged by the colour of their very souls…it seemed ever the darker.

Vincent had left Rayman after many reassurances that he was alright (although Vincent did not believe him for a second) and had actually cooked the pie that Razoff had ordered earlier. Now, he travelled up the curved staircase of the Foyer. It stayed pitch black as the chandelier still remained in ruins in the middle of the floor below. Vincent began feeling extremely nervous as he carried the tray of food up the steps blind. His heart skipped a beat when he missed a step, but luckily he caught his balance before the tray and its contents could join the chandelier below.

Finally reaching the very top of the staircases, he could see the faint orange glow down the corridor that signalled that Razoff was in the library, waiting, the fire burning away inside releasing the warmth that felt so wrong. Vincent gulped and began to feel the tray tremble in his grasp; he was terrified of meeting Razoff after the horrors of before. Could he truly do this? Could his frail heart hold on? His fear of Razoff had grown tenfold and the notion to flee nearly made him do so.

While keeping his breathing even he attempted to keep his mind at ease, he travelled down that unavoidable corridor. His feet thudded softly on the wooden boards and echoed hauntingly in the surrounding darkness. It remained completely silent apart from his footsteps and the delicious smell of the cooked meat pie was making his mouth water hungrily. He had not eaten in days and he highly doubted that he would anytime soon. He sighed unhappily at this fact as he turned ever so slowly into the library.

He instantly froze as soon as he saw Razoff, who was reading silently in his favourite sofa by the burning fire.

Vincent just seemed to remain frozen in the doorway, as if he was afraid that when Razoff looked at him he would suddenly get attacked…or burst into flames under his dangerous stare. The pie left steaming away in its large bowl was just so appetizing as it vibrated slightly from Vincent's shaking. The scent must have obviously caught the nose of the other in the library who was currently bathed in the dim light of the flickering flames, for Razoff unnoticeably gripped his book a little looser. The Hunter strangely had his hat on for a change instead of resting it on the arm of the chair, a rare and unknown sign of unrest.

"Come in, Vincent," Razoff spoke quietly into the silence without even turning his head, his eyes remaining fixed in his black, leather-bound book.

Vincent immediately jumped at the Hunter's voice. The utensils on the tray clanked warningly. Emerald eyes grew wide as he forced himself to stay steady, a tiny whimper he prayed Razoff had not heard escaping him. Ever, ever so painfully slowly, he ventured forward towards the wooden table beside the sofa to place the tray down. His whole body shook with timid nerves...he had just grown too frightened of Razoff. He was not brave or confident like Rayman and grimaced as he never would be…but oh how he wished he could gain just a grain of it. As soon as that ruby encrusted tray connected with the surface of the table Vincent quickly bowed and began to back away hastily.

"Sit," Was Razoff's sudden demand and Vincent flinched, his mind frozen solid as he slowly turned back. Fear, he felt fear as he crept to the other single sofa available with drilled-in obedience.

The fire wavered for a moment in an unfelt draft. Crackling sounds pierced Vincent's very soul. Light burning from those embers reflected the strange gleam in Razoff's eyes.

He hesitantly sat down, fiddling with his scarf as he stared fearfully at the red rug on the floor. The sound of the sparking embers in the fireplace gave him little comfort as its harsh light caused sharp shadows to dance across the room. He could feel it in the back of his mind—Razoff was watching him intently. It caused him to fidget uncomfortably in his seat.

Biting his lips with nerves, Vincent just painfully watched as with a black handled knife Razoff cut a slice of the pie. The crispy pastry cracked and gave way, a burst of gorgeous smelling steam wafting into the air, the now brown meat looking so divinely delicious as Razoff lifted the slice out. He placed the large piece on his plate and Vincent could only watch with a starving stomach as flakes of the perfectly golden, toasted pastry fell back into the metal bowl. Little did he know that he was still trembling uncontrollably in Razoff's presence.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Vincent...You know that don't you?" Razoff sighed out gently at seeing the pure fear behind the shy ones eyes. Vincent did not reply.

Even at those words Vincent flinched as if his words alone could cause serious harm. He refused to look into the Hunter's awaiting eyes and just fiddled with his scarf more vigorously, staring with panic into the flames as if they could save him. The embers were warm, but the warmth did not seem to reach his frozen core. His fear for Razoff had grown to such extents that he felt like he just wanted to bolt, to runaway, do anything to not be here...to escape this horrible place.

But where would he go...? He did not remember anything, had no idea where to turn.

He could feel it again, that horrid build up inside of him. He felt like he was going to cry, felt like he was going to release the bottled up tears. They were building up, threatening to spill over. It threatened him to cry, to release all his pent-up emotion from his emotionless mask—to cry in front of Razoff.

Vincent silently bowed his head; the couple of stray black bangs of hair that framed his face fell in front of his eyes. It effectively shadowed those suffering orbs as he clenched his fists around his pale scarf.

The hums of approval from Razoff tasting the pie all of sudden disappeared and the sound of his fork clinking against the plate's surface ceased, yet there was over half of the slice left. Razoff stared at Vincent concerned as the shy one trembled faintly.

A single tear trickled down a black cheek.

Razoff's eyes widened, he had never seen Vincent cry. The Hunter could not see his eyes because of the hair, but he could feel a sympathetic pull in his heart. His hard working slave was seriously troubled and depressed, and deep down, beneath the false facade, it hurt Razoff to see him suffering. Carefully placing his plate down as to not disturb the other, he sat up straighter.

"Vincent," Razoff began, his voice soft with the concern he was trying so hard to conceal. "...Let it out."

Vincent snapped his head up abruptly. Hair fluttered out of his eyes. Tears sparkled as they flew. His eyes were wide: wet, unfocused...confused.

"The more you bottle something up...the more it affects you," Razoff muttered gently into the silence, his eyes half lidded as he stared off into the flames. "It starts to hurt, starts to change you...for the better or for the worse. You're innocent, don't let bottled up emotions darken your heart."

Vincent's eyes widened. Why did his words _feel _so different? It felt more like...a confession?

Vincent felt the tears streaming rapidly down his cheeks, felt them drip from his chin and dampen his gloves still tightly grasping his scarf. The depression inside began to overflow; he bit his lip as the tears came faster. Razoff was right; he needed to let it out.

But he could not control it. Without even realising Vincent began to let the tears fall like waterfalls. He felt so bitter, so miserable as his fear for Razoff and what had happened earlier spilled over. It hurt; it hurt more than anything as the caged emotions broke loose. He began trembling involuntarily as he began to fully cry. His gloved hands covered his face, his eyes screwed shut, his stray hair clung to his face. His cries sounded almost painful. He just wanted the pain to go away, for the fear and weakness to vanish.

He wanted...his sister.

It felt like hours had agonisingly slowly gone by, although in reality it was only minutes. Vincent felt absolutely exhausted, his final tears being shed with laboured breaths. He did not dare remove his hands from his face, for he was immensely humiliated that Razoff had seen such a display of weakness. He fully expected that when he uncovered his watery eyes that Razoff would have left in disgust at his breakdown.

Feeling himself tremor slightly as he calmed down Vincent gradually removed his hands from his face and once again gripped his scarf like a lifeline, his last tears slipping swiftly down his cheeks with their removal. Vincent gasped as he saw something he did not expect.

There Razoff stood, holding out a plate to him, carrying a mouth-watering slice of the meat pie. Vincent just stared at it, confusion written all over his tear stained face as it continued to steam before him. His starving stomach decided to grumble unannounced at how truly delicious it smelt. Frightfully, he looked into Razoff's eyes, not sure how to react to such an unusual gesture from the man. Razoff said nothing at his gaze.

Hesitantly, his hands removed from his scarf and slowly outstretched his fingers towards the plate. He was fully expecting the blessing to be pulled away. However, as his fingers brushed against the plate and he supported it in his palms, he found that Razoff gently let go to allow him to hold it. Vincent blinked innocently as he brought the plate to his lap and watched as Razoff sat back down comfortably in his warm sofa. Feeling famished, Vincent instantly took the fork lying untouched on his plate and stabbed into his slice hungrily.

Razoff watched through tired, half lidded eyes with a soft smile. He finally took his hat off to place it firmly on the arm of the chair. In coolly finishing off his own slice of pie, he let the taste linger in his mouth and inhaled its remaining beauty in the stuffy air. Putting his hands behind his head in a relaxed posture, he allowed his eyes to fully close in content among the glow of the fire, secretly enjoying the company that Vincent had to offer.


	17. A Guest?

A Guest?

All of a sudden, the large double doors of the mansion burst open. Bang went heavy doors as they practically smashed into the walls. The entire mansion shock from its pure force.

"GET HOT CHOCOLATE READY! I WILL BE IN THE DRAWING ROOM!"

Razoff's eyes suddenly widened. He jolted forward in his usual seat beside the fire at nearly choking on the tea he was sipping, or _had _been sipping in this case. Just barely managing not to spill the hot beverage over his book he had been reading he spluttered in utter bewilderment. It was not only the yelling words of someone barging into his home that had caught him off guard—it was the intense vibration that had shook the entire mansion like a mere leaf in a ferocious wind.

After a few seconds of coughing at the tea he had accidently gasped down, he recovered. He cleared his throat with deep breaths, tapered fingers tenderly stroking his throat. Yet an unusual sparkle was shining in his eyes. He knew of only _one_ who could make such a, in lack of a better word, 'loud' entrance into his home.

Razoff chuckled lightly in his favourite red sofa for a moment before grabbing his hat perched on its signature spot on the arm. He elegantly placed it upon his head without fault and stood to go and greet his guest. There was a peculiar smile of affection on his face. _Pray tell, what's one decidedly eccentric person doing here?_

XXXX

"What in frolicking fairies?!" Rayman cried, bolting upright from his bed so fast he tumbled out with an echoing yelp. After Vincent had vanished last night, he had managed to free himself from the shackles that Razoff had bound him to the wall…and had secretly slinked away to bed. The extremely loud bang from upstairs had woken him up faster than a piranha on its prey, which was not surprising considering how the main doors were located directly above his head.

Bow screeched in terror and bolted out from under Vincent's bed, flying around the room in a disorderly frenzy. She whizzed left to right, up and down, flying in circles. Looking utterly panicked her small arms flailed about violently in distress. Rayman covered his ears with his hands in a grimace from his position on the floor at her relentless squeaks. A hiss of discomfort slid through his gritted teeth. The indigo blur suddenly vanished under Vincent's covers—fast.

Simultaneously, Vincent's once peacefully sleeping form jumped awake so badly it was visible. His pupils immediately shrunk: frightened, shocked, petrified. In abrupt fright he gave a cry and yanked his pale bed sheet over his head on instinct, timidly trembling beneath the covers with eyes closed and highly shaky breaths.

The chains of the ceiling still rattled wildly from the tremendous bang, almost seeming to wave in welcome to the visitor of its mansion. A tense yet inquisitive silence brewed when the rattles of the clinking chains died down. Nobody moved, nobody even dared to breath. Shock chilled the three to the core. Hearts pounded. Mind's raced.

Rayman was the first to get to firm grips on himself. He swiftly sprung up to his feet from the cold, stone cobbles: that golden hair twitching in thoroughly captured curiosity, mouth slightly agape as alert eyes followed the sound of footsteps clinking upon tiles upstairs. His eyes appeared practically aglow with uncontainable interest, _That had definitely__** not**__ been the Hunter...the voice was female... _

Rayman cocked an eyebrow in disbelief whilst continuing to stare above at the receding footsteps, _What girl would be near that utter slave driver? In their right mind no less?! Oh Polokus I hope it isn't a girlfriend!—that's impossible. Oh man, can you picture Begoniax's reaction to this if it is?! Gallant glutes she'd literally kill the geezer...fantastic! _Rayman sniggered at that prospect, a glove hand gingerly rising to his chin in thought. _Perhaps Vincent knows what's going on..._

"Hey Vincent...Vin?" Rayman began to ask, but on turning around in confusion his words caught in his throat. The hand on his chin slowly dropped to his side as he stared. Sapphire orbs softened with a heart warming smile at distinguishing a lump hidden beneath the shaking bed sheets of his companion. Rayman's expression clearly displayed tenderness; he would swear the gentle guy was afraid of his own shadow. He continued to speak, his words calm whilst carefully approaching, not wanting to frighten him further, "It's alright, you can come out." Rayman glanced up to the ceiling, hair gracefully following the movement. "She's gone...whoever she was."

Vincent timidly lifted the sheet ever so slightly, Rayman tilting his head with a playful grin at meeting emerald eyes shining through the gap. The entirety of Vincent was adorable in that moment: the way he slowly raised the sheet from his head, his expression cutely uncertain, worried eyes soft with nervousness, a moonlight blue pony tail considerably ruffled from sleep. The shy one stared at the bed sheet rather than Rayman's sparkling eyes at feeling rather than seeing him sit on the edge of the bed, the extra weight automatically dipping the mattress in the other's favour. The sheet slid around his shoulders as Vincent sat up; Rayman watching him with his palms leant back on the mattress.

Vincent rubbed an eye tiredly. He yawned, "W-What is going on?"

"Ya tell me," Rayman said. His blue eyes were locked on the ceiling. "I was hoping ya would know, since you've been here for so long and all."

Rayman's eyes widened and he immediately grimaced at his own words. Tentatively, he bit his lip as he bowed his head…had those words sounded insensitive to his partner in any way? He highly hoped not. Apologetic eyes turned to Vincent, those glorious eyes as deep as an ocean of emotion that the other's eyes still could or forge not swim through.

Vincent narrowed innocent orbs and fiddled with his pale blue scarf yet again—he could feel that genuine and unsure gaze of his companion. This time, and Rayman's breath hitched in concern, the cream one detected that the other was literally _wringing_ the material. Rayman felt an unsettled twinge in his heart.

"It...It does not affect me. Do not concern yourself; I am not _that_ fr-fragile."

Chillingly motionless was the Guardian for a moment. Why had Vincent sounded so...so...

Distraught.

For a single moment, the fact that there was another in the mansion fell completely forgotten.

Swallowing, Rayman found his throat to be unexplainably dry, found a lump had lodged deep within the confines of his throat. The thought crossed his mind that Vincent had been having a dream of a memory that he was fighting with before being awoken. And in being awoken in REM sleep it was as fresh in his mind as a memory, despite whether it was or not. Either that…or something had happened between him and Razoff last night that he would not confess. Sapphire eyes softened to a dull blue, for even though Vincent's face was expressionless, he could see it as clear as crystal in those glassy eyes.

Rayman could see it.

He could see it, that confusion, frustration, hopeless despair, a horrible hysteria to discover who he was, to be set _free._

It hit the Guardian in that broken moment that there was a burning fire forming deep within his heart, a white hot fire of determination. It was scolding, coursing through every fibre of his being. He felt like he wanted to know Vincent—no, _n_e_eded_ to know Vincent—to help see the suffering guy through.

_I have to do something...I have to find a way to trigger your memories, even if it is only tiny, insignificant, fragments at a time. It feels like it is tearing me apart from the inside out. In my eyes you are a friend, a friend that does not even realise you are one. I need to do something—anything! _

_I need to know more about you...I need to know_ who_ you are._

A jaw tightened in his utter pity for the male before him. A single gloved hand clenched with his inner fire. Strangely, it felt like a miniscule draft had picked up to ruffle his stunning hair.

"Vincent...I swear an oath to you, right here, right now, like I did for Ly all those years ago...that I will never give up on you."

Vincent, for another rare occasion, lifted his tormented orbs to meet the other's in confusion, "Rayman, what are you—

Suddenly, the door to the cellar creakily swung open to reveal Razoff. On instinct Rayman growled, Razoff raising a delicate eyebrow with a smirk at the instant reaction. Vincent, who still had his bed sheet wrapped around his shoulders, made an almost unnoticeable gasp...and hastily clutched Bow who was still under the bed sheet from her previous frenzy. His eyes flashed in panic as he glimpsed Bow looking up at him—mouth opening to laugh—

"I, if you haven't gathered..." Razoff trailed off as he slowly strode into the room. His eyes were locked on Rayman's glaring ones. Black met blue—calm met anger. An amused snort suddenly escaped him at spotting the broken metal cuffs still connected to the wall. So, his slave had broken free of his restraints? He finished as a sigh whilst looking to the ceiling and tipping his hat unnervingly forward, casting shadows over dangerous eyes, "...Have a guest."

"We gathered," Rayman droned. "I'm pretty sure the Livid Dead heard."

To Rayman's utter shock, Razoff smirked in reply. "Indeed, as horrible as it is for me to admit it...she can make quite a ruckus." One glinting eye abruptly swerved to icily catch Rayman's in the corner of his eye, under that obscuring shadow that made Rayman secretly feel unnerved. That gaze was frosty enough to freeze hell itself over in a heart beat—a literal U-turn to a second ago. The Hunter suddenly took a deadly step closer to him, his voice dangerously low, "And I suggest, _Slave..._" One more echoing step closer, echoing in the room, echoing through Rayman's soul. "That you, _especially _you, keep in line as you serve her." Tension consumed all as Razoff bent forward when close enough, face dangerously mere centimetres away as a cold whisper held a threatening pause, "Understand...boy?"

_Déjà vu much, _Rayman mentally realised.

Vincent was sweating nervously on the bed right beside the unfolding suspense, alarmed as Bow squirmed in his lap in discomfort. If she kept going Razoff would detect her!

Rayman noticed the alarmed tinge to Vincent's eyes, his heart plummeting into his stomach with a cold thud at remembering that Bow was still under the bed sheet.

Vincent abruptly went pale. Rayman nearly choked on his own air at realising why. Bow was, slowly, poking her head out under Vincent's trembling chin—completely visible.

Rayman's heart thundered. Normally upright hair drooped slightly. Sweat formed on his brow.

Unfortunately, Razoff noticed such signs of anxiety with a furrow of his eyebrows. What could possibly have extracted such reactions from his slave?

Hastily flicking his eyes away from Vincent as if he had never chanced a glance, Rayman glared back to the Hunter. He knew he had to get Razoff away as quickly as possible. All the while...Bow ventured further and further out.

Coolly, Rayman finally replied, "Yes, Master Razoff."

Razoff blinked and quite literally took a step back, unguarded. A suspicious flash crossed stern eyes, Rayman never abided by that rule willingly—never. Something...was terribly amiss.

The Guardian mentally palm smacked his forehead. _What was I thinking?! _Rayman's pupils shrunk and he withheld a gasp when Razoff started turning on his heel to Vincent for questioning. Neither of the smaller creatures dared to move. Tension clutched with terrifying talons. Hearts raced with frozen blood. Bow was still there, still there in plain sight! Breaths caught. Razoff turned—about to—

"RAZZY!" A feminine call interrupted from upstairs. Razoff unceremoniously jumped and darted his eyes to the ceiling in a flash, completely averting his gaze from his company with a small sigh. "Hurry up, I am dying for a drink here!"

Both Rayman and Vincent looked to each other, pale, stiff, yet undeniably relieved. They grasped their chests with shaky exhales. The saying 'saved by the bell' had never ringed so true. That had been close—way too close. And behind Razoff's back, Vincent kept his eyes fixed on him, in case he all of a sudden decided to turn around, as he carefully leant over the bed with Bow in hand. Rayman's hair gently lifted in upmost relief when Bow obediently disappeared beneath the bed in complete silence.

Razoff yelled back, "Just hang on a moment woman!"

The Hunter huffed and uncharacteristically stamped his foot, much like a child in Rayman's opinion. One golden eyebrow rose at the action, did this female have some sort of power of Razoff? The thought tossed around in his mind as he gently chewed on the inside of his lip.

Vincent, who had calmed down considerably, saw the pondering glaze in Rayman's eyes and paled once again. To be honest…he found it unnerving when he found Rayman thinking like this. It normally meant major mischief would ensue. He felt a horrible twist in his stomach at the prospect, for he had found he felt fondly for Rayman and the thought of him getting hurt further tore at his kind heart. He could only pray with a nervous swallow that he was wrong this time.

"ARE YOU PUNISHING THAT SWEET HEART VINCENT AGAIN?! IF I FIND OUT YOU ARE, I AM GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS SO HARD YOU WILL NOT SIT FOR A WEEK!"

"Pfft I like this girl already!" Rayman burst out laughing, cocky grin wide on his face. "She knows how to lead it!"

Razoff growled and sharply spun around to whack his disobedient slave around the back of the head. There was a resounding slap from the abuse, but Rayman was too busy sniggering to care. He just let out a laughing 'ow,' thoroughly entertained instead.

"No Dear, of course not!" Razoff called back to the ceiling truthfully. He crossed red coat covered arms with an echoing rustle, before glaring down at Rayman as he muttered the last part. "I am punishing the other impertinent brat."

Rayman just smirked cockily back.

Razoff glared venomously, he would punish the boy seriously later. One reason would be for breaking his best metal cuffs beyond repair, the other for being just plain overconfident. But for now, sighing and pinching the bridge of his large nose, he had another more _pressing _matter to attend to. That matter happened to be gracing her Ladyship in the Drawing Room with his presence. Or at least, Razoff thought that was the purpose of her visit.

"You," Razoff ordered out of the blue, swiftly pointing to Vincent as fast as lightning.

The timid one flinched before he could stammer his answer, "Y-Yes Master Razoff?"

Razoff motioned a thumb with an elegant flick of his wrist in Rayman's direction.

"Kitchen with him, now. I have already unlocked the necessary cupboards. Yes, indeed, I replaced the locks smashed yesterday. I expect refreshments of tea, cake and biscuits up in five, understand? And I want nothing but absolute silence."

"Yes…Master Razoff."

The Hunter nodded in approval at his obedient slave. But, he then turned back to Rayman, who had calmed down enough to yet again shoot another furious glare his way. Razoff shook his head with a light chuckle; a Rayman that did not glare at him with such fire would not be Rayman at all.

In spinning around, Razoff strode towards the door. His back remained unfalteringly straight and his posture defined. His next words were drenched in the bloods of warning...obviously directed at the sneering Guardian.

"And I mean it..._absolute_ silence."

The atmosphere the Hunter left behind as he left them was chilling, chilling enough to send shivers wracking the Guardian's spine. A snort resounded; Rayman stared into the nothingness that was thick enough with tension you could cut it with a knife.

He found it strange, for deep down he found that there was a bizarre feeling inside him. Yes, he hated that monster of a man with a vengeance. No, he would never, _ever_ care for that git—perish the thought.

However, there, buried deep inside his heart...something more lie hidden. There a niggling sensation of wonder brewed for the enigma that was Razoff the Hunter.

XXXX

The clinks and clanks of china dishes and cups tapping against each other were the only sounds to grace the kitchen.

Vincent briskly weaved around Rayman and the king sized table, pony tail fluttering behind him in a blur as he hurriedly retrieved ingredients. First, a container of chocolate powder, then bolting to the other side of the room he opened the fridge and grabbed the milk. Hastily, he rushed to the elegant teapot with its handle lined with expensive rubies. After boiling the water to perfect temperate on the stove he created a mixture of chocolate, milk and hot water into a delicate teacup, gingerly pinching the glittery sugar cubes from their jar and dropping them in. Two echoing plops resounded. Black and blue boots clinked on the golden tiles that reflected his expressionless face. He worked quickly and effectively…with no emotion to spare.

Rayman could only watch the other opposite him with the saddest of frowns. He glanced down at the table, a table that split him and Vincent apart, where three silver trays engraved with birds lining the edges lay to be filled. Those birds' wings were etched tight, forever caged in silver and refused the will to fly, even when they could have been engraved to do so. Rayman stared at them with the strangest smile of pity, the strangest sense of irony…the strangest feeling of connection. A sigh escaped him as he continued to fill those plates up with treats: one a selection of beautiful cakes expertly decorated, one with biscuits of many different flavours, and the last littered with fruit tarts. All those treats barely touched the bird patterns beaks, just barely out of reach, just there to tease.

Yet...it appeared his task was not what plagued him.

"I'll ask again, do ya know what's going on Vincent?"

Vincent halted nervously mid stir of the hot chocolate, the clinks of its action fading to anxious silence. Whipping his head up to the other, he locked his eyes on the 'o' pattern on Rayman's chest rather than his questioning gaze. His eyebrows furrowed sadly, hesitant. Another minute of silence ticked by, before Vincent finally answered.

"Yes..." Vincent gave a whisper, tone as soft as a dove.

At hearing Vincent's voice back to normal instead of how it had sounded before, Rayman sighed in content. A warm gladness settled over his heart at that familiar tone. That voice was as soothing as a Tribelle to his ears. It was not frightened or upset, just low and silky like it should be. However, the answer of the other had effectively caught his attention and his hair naturally twitched in curiosity.

"I...I am not sure if I am allowed to say these things. I should n-not even know them myself, but I hear things I can not take back…and I accidently form opinions."

The Guardian's hand froze on a cake at those words. Slowly, an eyebrow rose in blatant disbelief, "'_Accidently _form opinions?' Oh Vincent, Razoff can not take away your opinions. _No_ opinion is accidental."

Vincent gave him a hollow smile, "I know that."

"So, what exactly do ya know? I've found it strange how I have been captured by this guy but I barely know a thing about him, his family, his history. Can ya fill me in?"

"Heavens, I can not tell you all that!" Vincent nervously hissed, eyes glancing to the camera inconspicuously leering from its corner. He then closed his eyes and sighed in defeat. "But I can tell you this: the name of the woman currently in the mansion is Lady Rosyetta Alexandra, she is Master Razoff's—

Suddenly a bell on the wall rang in interruption, making both of them jump. Both darted their eyes to the row of bells that were assigned different rooms of the mansion. It was the bell to the Drawing Room—time was up.

Vincent turned his eyes downward and spoke quietly to the tray filled with refreshments, "You will find out soon enough, it seems."

**xXEnd of ChapterXx**

**Copyright: As you all should know, Rayman, Razoff, Ly, Betilla and the Nymphs, etc and all of the places are copyrighted to Ubisoft.**

**However, these characters are my own creations and belong to me: VINCENT of course! Bow the cute Ugly, Rosyetta Alexandra who you will find out soon enough, and Hope and Faith who are the Twin Moons and the adopted Goddess children of Polokus. ^^ Just wanted to point out which characters are actually mine and copyrighted to me. Thank you for reading. :)**


	18. That Fair Maiden

That Fair Maiden

Both slaves walked closely together with the trays of objects held tightly in hand. Their steps were swift with haste down the narrow corridors, their soles tapping softly upon the tiles. One would believe that every echoing clink, every heavy step of their feet…was really the beating of their anxious hearts instead: uneven, harsh and sharp. Well, at least in Vincent's case. Rayman's much firmer steps revealed that curiosity ailed him rather than petty fear.

They passed the front doors in the Foyer as they headed for the Drawing Room. Rayman longingly stared at those 'freedom doors' with an ever growing desire to escape and get Ly back. Unfortunately, Vincent noticed such a desperate aura seeping from his partner, and secretly glanced back at Rayman with concerned eyes. All he could see were the once sparkling sapphires dulled to a smoky grey.

A freezing tendril of dread formed in Vincent's stomach, one which weaved, coiled, tightened, slithered around his frail heart, for he did not know how if he would live if his caring friend became just as drilled in as he himself was. Emerald eyes flashed a very rare spark of emotion. _Please, do not fall like I did...I need this 'you' more than you know._

As if the other could read his thoughts, Rayman made a playful 'what?' with a simple tilt of his head, room brightening smile in place. As usual it seemed to glow and radiate a natural reassurance to all who saw it. It was a magical smile, one which could never be dulled. Vincent gave a very small, emotionless smile in return, a lampshade over a bulb in comparison to Rayman's blinding sun of a grin.

It did not take long for them to finally find themselves in front of a pair of opal white doors. And as soon as he saw it approaching, Rayman marvelled at the rose carvings up the rims and the occasional pearl embedded delicately into the surface, it was such a piece of perfect craftsmanship. Trailing his eyes upward he acknowledged that this was, indeed, the Drawing Room, for those exact words had been etched into the top of the doors in elegant font.

Rayman raised his fist to knock, yet hesitated. He swallowed. Why did he feel this taunting tension pulling at his gut? It was that horrible feeling you get when you had to meet someone new and important, someone which you secretly knew you could come to dread. Yet all the while he sighed out as questions flocked his mind like hungry birds. What would she be like? Who exactly was she? Her name he already had, but a personality lay hidden…all he had to do was open the door to reveal it.

It remained entirely silent on the other side of the doors, but his eyes narrowed at distinctively sensing that undeniable feeling of a presence...just _one _presence.

Vincent shyly cleared his throat behind him.

Shaking his head in response, Rayman cleared his own throat before applying those fateful knocks. Thump, thump, thump, went his fist against the wood, almost identically loud to his heart. He silently cursed himself and his pride roared in fury for such weakness. Why such nervousness? He was the Guardian for crying out loud!

"Come in," A voice called, polished and defined, yet gentle—female.

Rayman glared at the door, where was Razoff?

With his large tray of treats in one hand he firmly grasped the slim handle with the other. Forcing it down made an ancient creak. The door opened a mere slither, letting a pale light bathe the corridor from the room within. Despite not wanting to, Rayman opened it fully and entered. Vincent followed closely behind in obedient silence.

"Oh Vincent, how have...you been?" A lovely voice burst out, sounding confused by the end at discovering it had not been who she was expecting. "Oh..."

The Guardian had to take a double take as he literally halted in his stride. He had a feeling he was gaping, but he could not help it.

The sight before him completely lodged his heart into his throat and he nearly dropped his tray.

There she stood, Lady Rosyetta Alexandra, in all her glory. Those absolutely gorgeous amethyst eyes bathed in the moonlight that was cascading through the giant windows behind her. Never had Rayman seen such an eye colour. That skin, a tone of green so pale it was a smooth mint. She was much taller than him, like the Hunter, the same species even, yet slightly shorter than the man. Her elegant frame was attractively slim. Pearly moonlight seemed to caress the blonde locks that gracefully framed her face, seemed to caress her extraordinary long plait that was swaying behind her knees. There Rayman spotted a crystal clip on the very tip of her plait that held it in place, it seeming so large it appeared to weigh it down. Its crystal surface stunningly reflected the moonlight—a matching colour to her irises.

It was a lily clip, such a beautiful thing.

_Damn, if this is Razoff's girl I'm in awe...and admittedly sorry for her._

But it was her clothes that were the shining cherry on top of the cake.

She was wearing a velvety violet cardigan that clung to her body in just the right places, each of the buttons a pearl as delicate on the dark material as drops of moonlit tears against the night. Shiny, black, high-heel boots were zipped over violet trousers up to her knees—clinging to her slim legs.

A dazzling amber brooch quickly caught Rayman's attention. It was settled among the white frills of the sash around her slender neck, those frills splayed out perfectly against her bust. That brooch held such contrast with the violets of her clothes.

Yet it was not just her appearance that was captivating.

It was her scent.

Rayman breathed deeply. She smelt like freshly bloomed lilies with a touch of lavender—soothing.

Rosyetta blinked as she stood very still, her expression revealing uncertainty at the staring male before her. A white gloved hand that looked as soft as silk rose to her chin.

"Umm, Vincent is he alright?" She asked.

In the time Rayman had been stood there frozen with his tray of treats, Vincent had settled his tray of refreshments and utensils on the round table in the centre of the ring of white sofas—seven sofas in all. He was currently standing beside the lovely lady who was three times his size. Very apprehensive hands fiddled with his scarf.

"I-I am afraid we are not permitted to talk, My Lady," Vincent whispered with nerves. He kept rapidly whipping around to the door in fear of Razoff.

The frown that crossed her young face was so ferocious that it caught Rayman off guard. Her distaste at Vincent's given information was substantial. However, she seemed to push this knowledge to the side of her mind—not the back, the side—as she returned her unsure attention to Rayman.

She closed her eyes and flicked her wrist. "I, as your Mistress, dispel this ridiculous order for now. Please speak, new one."

"No disrespect...but I would've done regardless," Rayman smirked. Vincent paled yet again that day and nearly fainted right then. "I'm sure Razoff will fill ya in."

Rosyetta tried to withhold her laughter, but just could not. She just couldn't do it. She burst out into angelic laughter, long plait swaying from her laughs. She tenderly wiped a tear from her eye after a moment and smiled, "I like you already."

Rayman beamingly smiled. This stunning woman was nothing like Razoff.

"Rose, my dear."

All eyes turned to the Hunter who had suddenly come in. Razoff had shut the doors and had his arms open in offer to the female. Rayman felt strangely uneasy at the sincere smile lighting the monster's face. Or at least...that was how he saw him. A monster, right? An utter, heartless, monster...

"Razzy!" Rose squealed. Rayman had to double take that she had actually ran rather than teleported into Razoff's arms when she had wrapped her slender arms around him in an embrace.

For some reason, despite hating the git...Rayman felt a guiltiness gnawing at his conscious. It felt like he was intruding on something very personal. Glancing to Vincent in the corner of his eye, he had to bite back another smirk at finding the other faring no better: pink tingeing pale blue cheeks, eyes nervously averted to the floor, hands on his scarf turning vigorous.

Razoff was embracing Rosyetta tightly, arms locked around the curve of her back. Upon opening his eyes, he glared at Rayman standing like a fool in the middle of his Drawing Room.

Razoff spoke over a feminine shoulder, amused glint in his eyes, "Pray tell, why are you standing there stupidly with a tray in the middle of the room, _Slave?"_

Rayman's grip on the tray audibly tightened at the mocking tone, at the deliberate embarrassing intentions in front of this lady, at the challenging glint in onyx eyes—the bait had once again been set.

No. No he would not fall for it. It was exactly what the arrogant git wanted. His jaw tightened as his natural response was to glare fierily back. The volatile fuse that frequently ignited that anger bomb in his pride was sizzling but under control. When Vincent offered to take his tray with a shy incline of his head, he fully accepted.

However, it seemed Rayman was second in importance as the Hunter seemed entirely focused on the beautiful Rosyetta.

"How have things been my dear, well?" Razoff asked. Both pulled apart slightly, but still remained in each other's caring arms. Their behaviour was very close—strong. "By Polokus, it must be at least three months since I last saw you. A long time for you to be away I must say, you're usually a regular in my household."

"Things...have been hectic," Her voice sounded uneasy, unnaturally so. But in an attempt to conceal it she playfully snatched Razoff's hat from his head and but it on her own. Razoff's eyes sharpened at detecting it in a heartbeat. She winked at him before continuing. "But you should have seen the rare bird of prey I hunted last week, it—

"Rose."

"—was at least twice the size of me! And—

"Rose~"

She suddenly turned away from him with a graceful flare. "It was bright blue, can you imagine it? Blue with golden tipped feathers, I have never seen anything quite so—

"ROSE!" Razoff snapped, knowing that this foolish charade was a disguise of the truth.

Rosyetta froze with a flinch, her back still turned to the Hunter. There was tense stiffness forming in the air. The room suddenly felt bone chillingly cold.

Rayman nudged Vincent in the arm before signalling to the white sofas. He felt that standing here in this scene could break it. Vincent seemed to agree and they silently crept towards the sofas.

Rosyetta slowly bowed her head with a shaky sigh, still refusing to turn back to Razoff. Her whole frame was motionless as the moonlight bathed her. Razoff's hat was still settled upon her head from her antics.

"Rose," Razoff whispered tenderly, concerned. "I can tell there's something very wrong. You're generally a happy woman, strongly opinionated, a sturdy jewel in my eyes. Pray tell...has something chipped the precious jewel I know?"

Razoff did not like the way she slowly turned with tearful eyes to him. Her once amethyst irises had turned a lame lilac. Razoff's fists visibly clenched. Nothing, and he meant nothing, made Rosyetta distraught under his watch.

Unexpectedly, she suddenly laughed, although a little forced. She skipped up to him and playfully put the hat back on its real owner's head. "Ah, it does not matter. I need my hot chocolate and cake before I keel over."

With that said, the lovely young woman turned from him, an elegant twist with a following golden plait in the light of the Twin Moons. Those purple eyes he adored...still glistening. He knew, in that very moment as he tipped his hat up a little more to see better, that she was bottling something up.

He gazed at her with such care, adoration, concern, all so solid and real that they appeared to be threads that you could literally extract from the chords of his heart and examine. It was something never normally seen in the man. Those stern black eyes showed a strong determination to discover the truth.

Rayman's throat abruptly went dry...that determination was not unlike his own.

Out of the blue, the doors squeaked open slightly. Razoff looked down in question, but merely smiled in secret at glimpsing a ginger blur as his cat immediately shot off with a cute chirp for Rosyetta.

Meanwhile, whenever Rayman's hunger got the better of him and he would try to make a grab for a cake, Vincent would hastily grab his hand away in alarm, the action quick yet very gentle. Rayman sighed in defeat after his fifth attempt was foiled, how could Vincent sit there as starving as he was and not be tempted? He licked his dry lips at the refreshments as well with a mental longing that visibly glazed his eyes, and he swore that everyone in the room could hear his body screaming for just one drink to quench his thirst.

As Rosyetta sat down in the sofa opposite Rayman, the ginger cat meowed in greeting as soon as she was settled and leapt with a purr onto her lap. Her long plait trailed over the seat to sway like a golden tail over the side of the sofa. Strangely enough Rayman felt unnerved again, just as he always did, when those feline pupils unwaveringly stared at him, those cat pupils slits.

The woman stated rather than questioned to the one opposite her, "How silly of me, I never caught your name?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, Rosy, but they have strict orders not to—

"Oh pish posh!" She interrupted, sending a powerful glare the Hunter's way. "I dispelled your order before you even got your arse in here."

Rayman scoffed, covering his mouth with a hand. This woman was incredible! One minute she would be a darling angel and the next she would flip over and nearly bite the Hunter's head off. The woman had certainly grabbed his attention from the snacks though.

"Me? Rayman extraordinaire at your service," Rayman answered with a grin, noticing Razoff's eyes practically burst into flames in his position still standing by the door. _Hah! Who's setting lures now?_ Rayman cockily thought. Vincent put his face in his hands in overwhelmed disbelief next to him. Deciding to really sink his hook in, he finished with a flirtatious wink. "And I must say it's a pleasure to meet you, _Mistress._"

You could literally hear that imaginary branch in Razoff's mind snapping in that instant.

Rosyetta caught the innuendo and giggled. She then took a ginger sip of her hot chocolate which was surprisingly still hot, an amused sparkle in her eyes as she smirked over the rim. All the while she tenderly stroked the purring cat in her lap. Rayman felt his mind shift as if trying to alert him of something at the picture of her before him.

She played along with a flirtatious smirk, "Oh? I must say it is a pleasure to meet you too, _Slave._"

Oh, gallant glutes, when this woman said that word it held an _entirely_ different tier in his mind.

"**Rayman! You traitor of the worst kind! How could you, how could you be like this with this woman?!"**

All of the colour suddenly drained from the Guardian's face in that instant. Gaping in unusual terror a hand rigidly shot to his mouth with a choking yet silent gasp. He felt so abruptly cold. His eyes were shimmering in uncharacteristic panic.

He swore he had—no; it could not have been, could it? No, it was impossible, _impossible!_

Rayman struggled to breathe, that voice inside his mind could not be denied.

Those heart chilling words...had been Ly's...

Razoff rolled his eyes at the woman in disbelief and pinched the bridge of his nose at a headache coming on. But, there was a small and contradicting smile he tried to hide upturning his lips. There was no anger or irritation present in his face, just pure affection for the female.

"Fine, you're the boss my cousin."

XXXX

"Cousin...?" Rayman croaked, voice cracking in disbelief as he sat there on his bed. "Cousin?"

"I-I tried to tell you, Rayman. Mistress Rosyetta Alexandra is Master Razoff's year younger cousin."

"Cousin," Rayman repeated dumbly in his shock, throwing his head back onto his pillow. "She's his cousin..."

_Oh. Shit. I just flirted with Razoff's younger—yet undeniably lovely—family! Oh Polokus...that was why he looked about ready to tear me apart with his eyes back there—I just played dips on his 'jewel' as he calls her. It's obvious he's very close and protective over her, just yet another kindle to his spiteful flames. I do believe I've dug myself a huge hole here._

As Rayman laid there in his stupor he idly fiddled with his gloves, hearing Vincent sighing as he got under his own bedcovers to go to sleep without another word. They had both been excused early when the two happy family members had wanted some privacy, which Rayman found understandable. Or at least they appeared happy, but for the whole time his presence had been required to serve the treats…Rayman could distinguish Razoff's want for answers from his cousin in his eyes.

Both captured slaves had decided that an early night was needed for a change. However, as Rayman allowed himself to sink into the mattress—a relaxation in his body language present that he would not normally allow—Rayman found his mind too full to rest.

The Guardian breathed out through his nose as he pondered on the events of today. His expression changed to one of concerned interest as Rosyetta swiftly sprang to mind. Not only had Razoff's need for answers engulfed the room through the conversations with his cousin, but there had also been an odd aura hanging around Rosyetta...one of edginess? Sapphire eyes softened as he remembered feeling of her aura wavering as if she was harbouring something significant.

Rayman put his hands behind his head at the fresh images engraved into his minds eye. Razoff's eyes had been soft in the strongest concern he had ever seen from any living Being. It, undeniably, took the Guardian aback. He knew, in that very moment, that there was another side to the Hunter's personality.

Monster? Only in a certain way. Complicated? Very much so.

He closed his eyes and flipped through a few things he had found out in his mind as if the information was a mental catalogue. Rosyetta was sleeping over in the mansion, yet how long had not actually been openly discussed. Rayman glared at the ceiling of the cellar at distinctly remembering that she had seemed strangely secluded on details. She was going to be staying in the room Razoff specially kept for her on the top floor—the same floor as the Hunter's library, Study and own bedroom. It also seemed that Razoff had reigned in punishing the two slaves whilst she was here...as if afraid of her wrath. Rayman raised an eyebrow, understanding that this probably meant that Razoff was restricted in the next days that his cousin was around. A smirk slowly captured his lips at that.

That meant that the presence of Lady Rosyetta in the mansion was their momentary sanctuary.

However, there was a fear he tried to conceal growing in the pit of his stomach. Frowning at it, he continued to fiddle with his gloves to try and distract himself. Or was he trying to distract his furious pride? He knew, just undoubtedly knew, that as soon as Rosyetta was gone...Razoff would come at him with a vengeance.

Another smirk lit his lips.

He would be ready for it.


	19. The Storm Begins

The Storm Begins

Darkness, heavy darkness descended over marshlands deep and dark late that night. The Twin Moons eerily vanished behind a smoky ocean of cloud that flowed across the sky, clouds caught on an unstoppable tide, a vicious current controlled by Holly herself. They rapidly concealed the night—a veiling curtain of heart-chilling black. It consumed all the night in mere moments, the stars swallowed whole by the beast of a growing storm. Thunder rumbled like the roars of a distant wolf…forever alone, calling for a name. Light itself seemed to extinguish like a dying flame. The thunder was faint. But it was coming.

Never had the creatures experienced such raw power. Wind so icy and cold swirled about leafy floors, sending shivers down amphibian spines. Lightning tore distant skies. Thunder boomed. Blackness consumed.

Tense silence settled hauntingly among the swamp when the wolf wind would cease its sorrowful howls. All creatures that once chirped and buzzed had grown utterly silent. Yet one can learn to sympathise with such fear. The undeniable tension of an oncoming storm dragged them all into suspense. You could feel it, feel it in your chest, that unexplainable tightening—the calm before the storm.

The thunder roared, louder—closer. A dim flash of distant lightning blinked beyond the horizon. Drip, drip, drip, dauntingly sounded as ever so slowly the rain began to fall. Ripples spread across sluggish waters, one after another, picking up speed, icy cold if touched. Rain plummeted to the ground in a horrendous downpour as darkness seemed to consume…even all life itself.

And the mansion looked eerily frightening among the shadows when lightning dimly lit its monstrous face.

XXXX

Sleep took its time claiming Rayman that night.

In the cellar on the opposite end of the mansion to Razoff, Rayman tossed and turned in his bed as he too struggled to sleep. Golden hair was ruffled from his sharp movements as he tossed and turned and his annoyed groans of frustration echoed throughout the darkness. After a while the mattress stopped creaking in response when he fell deadly still. Huffing, he put a hand to his large nose in exhaustion. Despite having bad sleep for many nights in a row, he just could not sleep...and it was because of a horrible coil curling in the pit of his stomach.

Glazed sapphires turned a dull indigo stared in confusion at the ceiling. There was a voice. A voice echoing in his mind, a distant mumble, inconceivable words as if smudged on a page, only small fragments he could not understand faintly speaking into his ears. His eyelids twitched with lack of sleep at the prospect of it being an illusion.

And then it hit him. His breath audibly hitched unbeknownst to the sleeping Vincent. All of a sudden Rayman sat bolt upright with an unusual mortified look in his eyes, remembering what he had heard earlier.

**You traitor of the worst kind!**

'Traitor?' It was _that_ heart wrenching word that squeezed him, that seemed to suck his very soul straight from his body. A hand shakily clutched above his heart in such an uncharacteristic sensation of fear it alone unnerved him. It remained constant, choking, chilling.

Had her voice truly spoken from the other world inside his mind, or had it just been the strength of his conscience? Was it her that was mumbling in his conscience right now? Deep down, with a shaky sigh, he understood that it had been his conscience. Ly's influence over him was as powerful as ever and it played on his mind. Bonds are a powerful…deadly thing…

The damp scent that continued to waft throughout the cellar made him snort in disgust as he lay there. Those secretly distraught eyes sharpened at discovering the taunting scent was nothing more than another voice proving his position as the captured slave even more so. It was such a laughing voice, a laughing that evilly mocked him. Seriously, how could such a mocking laugh be imaginary? It sounded so real. To be honest, it was clawing sickeningly at his pride.

He breathed heavily at finding that the voices of the mansion itself and Ly's voice were blending into one.

No matter where he averted his gaze everything seemed to laugh at him: the chains that clinked in mocking, the dusty barrels hysterical, the curving archways chiding him, the very soul of this mansion a heartless crowd. And no matter how much he tried to hammer it down, how much he tried to cast it aside...that feeling of utter humiliation kept springing right back to clutch at his mind. It was unrelenting to the point it made him want to scream. Covering his face with a pillow he growled, shaking his head as he tried to block out the cackles of the very mansion that was his prison.

Groaning uneasily, he hastily shot out from under the covers. Suddenly he was pacing back and forth in the darkness, his eyes screwed tightly shut with that inner curdling gnawing away at him.

Why, did it feel...as if Ly's eyes were burning holes of disgust into him? His hair sadly drooped whilst putting a hand to his chin. Was it his mind playing tricks on him because of Rosyetta? He kept pacing, unaware of his own behaviour.

"Are you alright?"

Rayman would never admit that he jumped ten feet in the air as he spun around to Vincent who was cutely wrapped up in his bedcovers. Those deep emerald pools were swimming in genuine concern as he sat crossed-legged on his bed, his face characteristically holding an expressionless mask. Yet, beneath it was a glowing kindness that could outshine anybody, and only he, the Guardian, could spot it.

Caught in his inward panic, it took the Guardian a moment to process the other's question. Vincent cocked his head slightly in concern just as Bow decided to make an appearance at the sudden activity of the two.

Ever so slowly, yet hesitantly, Vincent met the other's sapphires. Vincent felt his insides instantly freeze. Rayman's eyes looked so...so...

Lost.

"Apologies, but you are beginning to worry me. I have never seen you like this before...is something on your mind?"

"Worry, worry," The Ugly mumbled, the only word Bow picked up on from her owner. She carefully flew over to Rayman to land gently on his head, playfully yet very softly fiddling with his hair. She remained quiet in understanding as it was obvious she knew when to be considerate. "Bow worry."

Rayman felt his heart swell at the two's sincere concern and forced on a smile, although it seemed Vincent noticed that it was forced. Sighing deeply, he raised his hands to gently lift the cute creature from his head. For the first time Bow did not clap in joy at the action and just stared back into his eyes. It was clear that she could detect his inner war as her beady eyes were nothing if not sorrowful.

"...Yeah," Rayman quietly replied, eyes half-lidded as he held Bow carefully against his chest. "Yeah I'm fine, no worries."

Obviously, Vincent did not believe him in the slightest.

Thunder suddenly rumbled close enough to the house for the two to hear it. Both glanced up sharply to the ceiling, both listening as the sound faded away. Bow cried out in fright and fled from Rayman's clutches, making him yelp in shock as she bolted for Vincent with a frightened squeal.

"Looks like a storm's coming," The Guardian muttered. Although his words were not spoken to anyone in particular, the tone in his voice sounding…peculiarly serious. With hair twitching in dulled curiosity, he continued to stare at that ceiling with cold, stern eyes. "A strong storm, by the feel of things."

_The tension it holds…it's making me uneasy. Something's just not right here…_

For a reason the Guardian could not understand, he felt a desperate need to see _her: _to go and visit Rosyetta. Something deep within was troubling him about that beautiful woman, that mysterious maiden, those hooks of curiosity seeming to tug at him relentlessly until it hurt. It was the only thing restraining him from sleep.

But all of a sudden he staggered a step back—an image of Ly's furious eyes flashed horridly. Gasping, he covered his eyes as if to shield his own mind from her fatal rage. He frowned at such a thing. Whenever he even tried to think of Rosyetta, Ly would be there glaring.

Vincent nervously got up with Bow in hand. Concern practically seeped from those innocent eyes, a shocking fear also present at seeing Rayman's strange behaviour.

"Psst!"

**His heart skipped a beat.**

Rayman jolted with a gasp, instantly understanding that familiar noise.

**Fully alert he spun around, fist clenched at the ready****.**** A fighter's fire burned in his eyes as they turned sharp arctic grey in a second. Rayman glowered at the impenetrable darkness that consumed most of this maze-like cellar**.

He swiftly turned to the darkness that was the rest of the cellar with a scowl of uncertainty. Yes, the mysterious Being had come before, but he still did not know if it was a threat. On top of that, Rayman was suspicious of how unpredictable it was. His fists clenched with the threatening sound of stretching material, yet he did not take up an offensive fighting stance like last time.

"**Who's there?" Rayman ordered, glancing to Vincent in the corner of his eye to make sure he had not woken up. "Show yourself."**

"Hello?" Rayman called suspiciously into the blackness.

Nothing stirred in the shadows.

Vincent was trembling by his side, having come closer to him in nervous fear.

**There came a sudden sound of scurrying feet.**

Out of the blue, a loud clink was heard. Followed by the scuttling of running feet. It all happened too fast. Rayman's eyes sharpened, completely ignoring the key that span across the floor towards him and leaping over it to dart into the darkness like a man possessed.

"R-Rayman wait!" Vincent cried.

However, the curious other was consumed in the shadow's devouring jaws, and Vincent let out a timid whimper deep in his throat. Instead of following, he merely let Bow hover out of his hands and bent down to pick up the rusty key instead. His nerves caused him to fiddle with his scarf vigorously with his spare hand.

He stood there feeling a little at a loss, but he whimpered like a puppy as it became apparent that he would just have to wait for the other.

XXXX

Rayman could hear it, hear it growing fainter, hear that unmistakable sound of fleeing feet. It echoed in the darkness. It was swift—nimble. He couldn't let it get away—just _couldn't!_ Not this time. He desired to know—no! _Needed _to know what it was. This mystery could not remain so forever. His heart wildly pounded. Golden hair fluttered. Hood tassels bounced against his chest. Razoff's words rang through him, echoed in his head as he ran.

"**Pray tell, how did you escape the cellar?"**

He could barely see and cursed aloud, not able to spot the mystery. His feet slammed against the ground. Breaths echoed in his ears: both his and the fleer's. Then all of sudden things shifted. Running feet ahead suddenly vanished. Silence screamed. Darkness swirled.

"**Wouldn't ya want to know," Rayman stated, grinning cockily.**

"What?" Rayman hoarsely breathed, gradually coming to a stop.

**The problem was he did not know how to answer that question… **

He was breathing heavily as he swiftly glanced around, vaguely seeing the outlines of crates twice his size stacked around him, huge, dusty, untouched. As his eyes appeared to glow when adjusting to the darkness, they suddenly narrowed in suspicion at spotting something in the ceiling just above a stack of crates. It was hidden extremely well just in the corner of a cobwebbed archway.

…**Since he did not know entirely himself how he had escaped. **

He tilted his head to the side at what it was...a hole in the ceiling. Those ghostly cobwebs were wavering about it, a sign that something had passed them. Something, or _someone,_ had vanished up into that escape hole. He leant his chin in his palm in confused contemplation, for it appeared way too small for even him to fit through.

Whispering to himself he stood there in a daze, "Who are you? _What_ are you?"


	20. Something is Terribly Wrong

Something is terribly wrong

The approaching thunder roared through the mansion. It called out to it, as if it were the call of a ferocious wolf lost in sorrow. _Danger! Danger!_ were its yowls disguised by thunder. Its lightning claws slashed viciously, blindly at the sky, wild in its uncontrollable frenzy, as if trying to express something gravely important. With each thunderous howl a hint of nature's pain resides…and only a few in the world are able to distinguish it. Such pain could only be the weight of dread. It was dread that grew, grew, and grew as the storm drew dauntingly nearer.

Paws slammed against blocking clouds—a beast throwing itself wildly about in its madness. Desperate, it was desperate! Slobber fell as the storm's mighty rain. Lightning flashed. White eyes scowled. Another flash—fangs glinted. Cold breath panted. The beast seemed to sprint for the mansion, its unforgiving glare focused on its prey. Such eeriness, such coldness, the wolf of the storm held it all, whispering, whispering…warning…

_Beware…beware…_

XXXX

The lonely household appeared even more so amidst the wolf's lightning claws. Bright slashes burst through stain-glass windows like pale floods, so blinding, so terrifying, so strangely warning, as if aa silent scream trying to prevent something. However, the violet curtains merely fluttered quietly among the windows in the windy slithers that squeezed through. Those tremendous windows were like a mirror of fate, taking up an entire wall of an innocent's bedroom. And as the open drapes eerily swished and swayed, their rustling mingled with the torrential rain ambushing the panes. The rain are the arrows, the glass are the shields.

But glass can only last so long in a war long since lost.

A flash of lightning exploded. A king sized bed was revealed. Pale silky curtains among the bedposts swirled like haunting ghosts in the frosty draft. Its silver duvet, thick and luxurious, lay there graced with intricate weavings of golden swallows. Every thread was a feather…but some had fallen lose. Its velvety cover remained untouched by crinkles...no one having lain upon it. However, the five satin pillows of shimmering gold silk against the headboard were currently preoccupied, for a snoozing cat lay curled up into a ball on them. Lightning flashed once more, casting the heavenly bed in shrouding shadows—outlining its peculiar lack of a person.

Suddenly, a feminine sigh echoed throughout the bedroom. It was one that acknowledged the absence in the bed,_ her_ absence. Her sigh sounded so elegant, so worn, so filled with unexplainable gloom. But the storm knew of her pain—it understood—it _always _understood…which is why the grumble of wolfish thunder quieted with cloudy ears pricked.

Rosyetta stayed nervously hidden in the shadows as she stared into an oval mirror. There she sat upon before her vanity unit, one of which she had earlier requested Razoff to place a vase of flowers upon. She now groaned into her palms in regret at realising such a mistake too late. How could she have expected anything else than what she had received?

There, upon the vanity unit's pearly surface shimmering rainbow against the lightning, a crystal vase brimming with exquisite lilies mockingly stood. They glistened as white as fresh snow, as stunning as moonlight even.

She all of sudden sneezed at the lilies empowering fragrance that overwhelmed her somewhat, amethyst eyes glazing over and hazy from its force. Or was something else giving her eyes that cloudy look? She sniffed a little from the sneeze; she turned her gaze to those lilies forlornly, sorrowfully, confusingly concerned for something unknown.

Rosyetta eyed the dew on the lovely petals and snorted, pondering on how they seemed to glow in the room's shadows—in the darkness of her heart. She gasped fearfully. Pupils shrunk, she could not take it! Trembling breaths escaped her as she harshly plucked a single lily from holy life waters. Fingers trembled as she held and stared at it with heart-wrenchingly blank eyes.

Her lips moved softly as if speaking to it, yet no words sounded.

_Help me_, she thought in panic.

With fingers as gentle as an angel's…she plucked that single lily.

Purity became petrified. Petals drifted slowly to the floor, a floor she noted was as crimson as blood. White against the red, pure petals tainted pink from her bedroom tiles. Thunder boomed once more as the final petal slipped sorrowfully from her fingertips in slow motion along with a single tear.

_Please…please help me…_Her thought's voice cracked, cried, called for help.

Such fragile petals, such a fragile flower. Flowers are such fragile things, are they not?

The stem was thrown behind her carelessly, forever a broken flower. She did not care where it went. She did not even look back. Once broken you are always broken.

_No! Please! Let me mend, give me more time…help me…_

She suddenly shook her head with a little cry as if trying to dispel some sort of thought. The sound could break the heart of the hardiest of people. She swiftly grabbed her long plait—let out an angry yelp as she tore it free. Plaited restraints were forced apart. All the while she panted in pain as her hair smoothly curled down her back and cascaded onto the crimson marble like a golden waterfall.

However, her crystal lily clip she still wore, its new location now clipped to the right side of her head as she cleared her throat.

Unbeknownst to Rosyetta, the ginger cat abruptly lifted its head to stare beyond the windows. Its ears pricked and its tail began to swish. Topaz eyes locked on the outside swamp. Pupils dilated as it stared at something. It cautiously sniffed the air with its little pink nose: alarmed, alert.

"Shouldn't ya be asleep, My Lady."

"Oh Polokus!" Rosyetta shrilly screamed.

Her hand shot to her unit. She grasped her bow. A wooden clink resounded. Amethysts flashed. A pair of hearts pounded. Spinning around as fast as lightning she pulled an arrow back, ready to—

"WHOA!"

Rosyetta froze, utterly bewildered. Her eyes widened in surprise when she discovered Rayman on the other end of her trusty weapon, him looking completely taken aback. Her actions had undoubtedly raised his suspicions, and she swallowed harshly when his sapphires sharpened.

Ever, ever so painfully slowly, she loosened the pressure behind the arrow with a sigh and lowered it with a raspy stutter, "B-By Polokus, do not sneak up on me like that! And how did you get here? What do you want at this time of night?"

The cat had immediately turned its attention to the Guardian as soon as he had appeared, those dilated eyes swiftly turning into slits as it stared at him. Roseytta raised a delicate eyebrow at spotting it.

"A-Apologies Mistress," Vincent suddenly entered the room soon after and Rosyetta felt soft amusement at how he looked thoroughly perplexed. After glancing outside the corridor in alarm, he quietly shut the door behind him. He then shyly walked towards her with his head bowed in apology "I am afraid I c-could not stop him."

The lovely woman sighed in relief at seeing the both of them.

Rosyetta smiled fondly to Vincent. "That is alright, Sweetheart." Her gaze then casually turned to the other slave with a playful wink and a smirk. "I do not think even destiny could control this one."

Rayman did not even attempt to hide the grin at_ that_ comment.

"So, my knight comes to me in the middle of the night. Worried were we?" Rosyetta chuckled to Rayman, tapping her chin with fake thought.

Rayman bowed dramatically with a flirtatious smirk of his own. "Oh, how perceptive ya are fair maiden." But his eyes suddenly clouded over as a familiar, female voice cried out in his mind, as if a natural defence to pull him away from the woman. Why, why was this happening?! He ignored his head's tricks, yet when he stood from his courteous bow…Rosyetta blinked at finding his expression suddenly deadly serious. His voice was soft, lost in his own world, "Yes, actually, I am. I am worried. And as much as I hate to admit it, I and the Hunter have fallen on the same page for once…and Vincent too but I know he just won't admit it."

Vincent whipped his head to the other at that, but no objection sounded. Rayman smiled a caring smile when Vincent merely fiddled with his scarf out of nervous habit instead.

"I know why you are here, little ones…but I can not tell you," The woman moaned in abrupt despair. She shut her eyes suddenly; forcibly shutting out Rayman's concerned eyes that had turned to her. "It is not something I want to burden you with...or my beloved cousin. I...I just can not tell you."

Rayman cocked his head with a sad expression. _What secrets could she possibly be harbouring to cause such distress in those beautiful eyes? _He thought,a sense of pity filling him. However, his jaw visibly tightened when as soon as the word 'beautiful' passed his mind, the voice of another beautiful woman taunted him with disgusted words.

His heart burned in frustration. What in Jano's-grave was going on with him? He really liked Rosyetta as a person and really wanted to know her, yet he was having trouble with it? He just did not understand...

"Are you alright? You look pale," The woman asked in worry, kindly placing her fingers on his forehead as gentle as an angel's wing.

Vincent merely watched the whole exchange and found his stomach freezing over at discovering the same inner turmoil as earlier swimming in Rayman's dulled sapphires.

The cat on the bed twitched its ear and did not go back to sleep, smelling a strange mixture of emotions in the air that did not add up—especially in the cream coloured one.

If only Rosyetta had more time to question him.

Suddenly, everyone's heads raised in alarm. All eyes darted to the door at hearing footsteps echoing down the corridor. Razoff was coming! How could she have been so careless? What had happened to her hunter instincts?

Rosyetta gasped quietly in panic before hastily grabbing the two that should not be there. Footsteps grew louder—closer! Frantically glancing around the room she had no time. Footsteps stopped outside. The door handle lowered. Everything froze. The door opened—a hand then revealed—

"Rose, my dear, are you awake?" Razoff asked quietly just in case his cousin was, indeed, asleep. His normal red lcoat had vanished, leaving him wearing his white dress-shirt and trousers. He fully entered and froze in his tracks with a roll of his eyes. "Why, pray tell, are you just standing there like a Tribelle in the headlights in the middle of your bedroom?"

Rosyetta's heart pounded a mile a minute as she stood all alone, swearing Razoff could hear her thundering heart just as much as the thunder outside. She swallowed at his slowly raising eyebrow as he tried her hardest not to wring her hands.

"Nothing Razzy. I do not like storms, remember?" She partly lied, but there was a strong truth to her words.

Razoff observed her suspiciously with narrowed eyes. He then turned his onyx gaze to her bed instead, where his ginger cat currently stared out of the rainy window with ears pricked in caution.

The Hunter suddenly looked concerned. Why was his cat on full alert for some reason…?

Raising both eyebrows, he followed his cat's gaze and rolled his eyes. "Well, it would certainly help you, My Jewel, if you actually_ closed_ your curtains. Honestly, you worry me."

Rosyetta's heart jolted.

Without another word, Razoff covered his mouth to stifle a yawn as he approached the violet drapes. He grasped one firmly and elegantly closed it as far as it could go with a smooth movement of his wrist. It slid with resounding clinks over the metal railing until it jolted to a stop. He then briskly moved to the other and did the same. It was strange how Razoff acted more like a guardian figure over Rosyetta rather than a cousin. The female watched him the whole time with nervous breaths.

After a couple of moments, he sighed and approached her with affectionate eyes instead of his normally cold ones that he gave everyone else. He was not stupid, in fact he was far from it, he knew she was not fully telling him the truth, for he could see it deep in her kind eyes, clear, strong and true. However, he knew she would not tell him unless she was ready—she was like a certain stubborn slave he knew.

As gently as a dearly loving person, Razoff stood before her and tenderly placed his hands on her shoulders. His voice was a mere mutter of concern, "Are you sure you're alright, Rosy?"

_No._ "Yes," Rosyetta playfully smiled and poked him in the arm. _No, no I am not._ "I am completely fine, now go to bed you fool! It is late." _Now go to bed before you accidently find the other two!_

Razoff chuckled low in his throat, "You're the boss, but I suggest you do the same my dear."

He reassuringly squeezed her shoulders to signal his farewell before letting his hands slide away. He approached the wide open door, hand on the door edge to leave, but suddenly halted. Rosyetta felt sweat develop on her brow as he peered over his shoulder.

"Oh, and Rose?"

Rosyetta barely breathed. "Yes?"

Razoff shook his head fondly, a small smirk in place.

"...Make sure the other two get to bed."

With that stated, he shut the door with a resounding click, both Vincent and Rayman standing there with wide eyes behind where the door had been. There was no possible way he could have seen them, yet he still had known. Razoff was certainly not naïve.

Everyone in the bedroom released the hefty breaths they had been holding.

It was then that Rayman's stomach took that unexpected moment to grumble loudly and he grinned with a sheepish blush on his face. Rosyetta laughed joyfully at the timing, while Vincent merely gave another of those hollow smiles with a rare spark in it. This time, Rayman felt an honoured joy at how the spark had grown somewhat.

Rosyetta caught the strange sensation between the two slaves and could only smile broadly.

"Ignore Razzy, guys. How about I treat you to a meal, by the sounds of it you need it—both of you. I do not care what my cousin says. But for now, let us talk some more…I enjoy your company," Roseytta said.

The ginger cat's pupils thinned so fast they were paper-thin in a second. Little did everyone know, as the thunder boomed and lightning struck, that something moved outside in the Bog of Murk…

And the ginger cat's tail swished threateningly at spotting it.

XXXX

"How the frick-frack did he know?" Rayman's voice sounded muffled through the door.

Razoff leant outside the door with a cunning smirk plastered across his face, eyes closed as he leant his full weight casually against the wooden surface. He quietly sniggered to himself and shook his head.

How had he known? He had not; he had merely expected nothing less from his cousin.

However, there was something a bit more mysterious on his mind. He had long ago come to accept that there was something peculiar allowing his slaves to escape the cellar, but had never found the cause.

In deciding that he desperately needed an alcoholic drink, he headed to his special spot in the library just down the hall to have a quick brandy before bed.

"Oh Rose, my dear, sometimes I wish that you weren't so naive," He talked to himself with warmth in his tone as he travelled, but it spiralled into a haunting sadness when he continued. "It makes you so vulnerable…and I am terrified that I will lose you, too."

Outside the mansion, the storm roared with furious thunder as it worsened.

.


End file.
